42
So I lower my gaze
Staring at the pavement
Slipping into the cracks
41
The warmth lingers
Between our fingertips
Dancing to the rhythm
Of come-and-go
Of give-and-take
Among the interlocks
It flits around, and stays.
40
Your unyielding eyes
Reflect my longing
These deep waters
Are slowly
Trickling away
I let bubbles out
I am running out
Love is in the air
And suffocating
39
Dec 7
I know I can’t gauge my intellectual development on the amount of books I’m reading, but this suffocation is killing me. You know how much I hate stagnation. It’s all about relativity - how the world is progressing but you’re not. Talk about opportunity costs and prioritizing resources - Which, in this case, is time. Unreplenishable. I’m not saying I don’t like what I’m studying now. In fact, the intellectual vigour this requires is intense and I’m learning about stuff I truly love. It’s just that I want to be more a part of this world at the same time. But there is a price given my circumstances… Given these circumstances.
You… you’re holding me back.
38
Oct 17
The unreasonable rejection or suppression of doubt is a false refuge. Trust does not come about through this kind of blind escapism. Instead, it has to be built upon existing doubts that one faces squarely, honestly telling oneself that they have to be worked on. When these doubts are refuted through solid action or evidence, then true trust can be found.
37
There was very little to live on. I was sapped and there were no replenishments. To me it should be a mutual thing but it was not. And I couldn’t be myself. That’s why that’s it.
36
The ink keeps running,
People keep talking
About their feelings
And thoughts,
Their dispositions
And their ideas,
And I’m drowning.
But I let my ink run,
I keep it running
Into the sky and I
Watch it fill up with
All our diffusing ink.
In some distant land,
Someone soaks it up
When it rains, and we
All get splattered by
This running ink, this
Raining ink, and we
Open our mouths, and
We ask for more.
35
Dirt is but the remnant
From a far, ancient shore,
The remains as a pleasant
Memory of aging earth,
Now charred black by fires
We scorch this land with.
Dust in the colour of blood
Shed and lost over this soil
For its boundless wealth,
Now robbed clean of its oil
And no amount of water
Can cleanse this damned oil.
34
(written during a rocky conversation)
Your words wash through me
Like raindrops that dry, you see,
Words don’t mean anything to me.
Transient, like passing clouds,
And more so like the rain they hold.
Drenching me, or in misty shrouds,
Trap me gently in a freezing cold
That suddenly lifts, without a trace
And this barren land without a face
Greets me with a dust-filled breeze
Scorching down, the unforgiving sun
Glares down drying you away
But then you come, in shadows
That softly gather over the horizon
Softly coating me in a gentle rain,
This gentle rain lights up my day.
33
(just trying out something new, this looks like nonsense. especially for the 2nd stanza, unless you study physics.)
Galaxies and systems of thought
A solar eclipse in a glass of milk
On highways, and black holes fought
Over cups of tea, as smooth as silk.
Lights that shift when spectrum breaks
Baseballs pitched on Cincinnati fields
Distant sirens for multiple heartaches
Blood spilt over diamonds, without yields.
Perpetual expansion over finite lands
With gauging metrics, intrinsic greed
Plowing and plowing with sunburnt hands
Towards the distant space, I throw a seed.
(what can I say, experimentation requires imagination.)
