Blank Identity
My walls are constantly suffocating me,
Surrounding me, restricting me.
Heavy breathing, constant panting,
Gasping for fresh air.
My walls you see, do not hear me,
If anything, they all but feel me.
My fists as they punch the blank screens
From rage, desperation and panic.
My walls hear very few things,
Only silent weeping in the dark.
Unfeeling and cold facades,
The demise of my freedom.
My walls I believe who should be protecting me,
Erect and powerful from the blows,
Have only crafted this nasty box,
Defining me, labeling me.
Immune to the words I write,
Insusceptible to the colours I paint,
Repelling me and who I am,
And forever erasing my identity.
trying just to try
Aching bones like over-loaded levees
creaking and cracking
in triumphant tribulation,
trying just to try.
Sinews whisper sweet encouragement
to tighten and
rise.
While desperate digits
fumble in frailty,
trying just to try.
Palatable prayers
aware in their awakening
ignore the ignominy,
trying just to try.
My Life
As vast as an ocean,
Is the story of my life..
Words are not enough ,
To describe it from the rise..
A drop in the ocean,
Is what I am now..
But, I aspire to be a poet,
To dedicate my words to 'thou' ..
"Thou" is every soul..,
That is drenched in the nectar of love..,
Whose sole purpose in life,
is to admire its beau or beautiful..
Who strives to manifests..;
Its heart's unfathomable sentiments;
That could be felt either by you(thou) or the poet...
Drishti
In These Small Sounds
These walls hear dreams.
As one goes, white noise follows
Into these rooms, and it reverberates
From ceiling to
Corner and corner and
Back again.
Louder, it grows
As notes add on.
In the bare brush of feet
Along this carpet,
In the faint strains
Of this song or another,
In the cracking of these
Sore knuckles,
In the pre-recorded applause
Of late night with
Insert name here,
In the rustle of weight
Shifting and sheets moving,
In the bangs of falling things
And muffled curses from
Hurting others,
In the clicking of a pen
And the jingle of
Keys,
In the rush of a door
Slam shaking the foundation,
In the scraping of a fork
And drip of
A leaky faucet,
In the riotous laughter
Outnumbered by the
Soft pull of tissues
From a box,
Collectively it is the whole of
An existence.
Decipher the static and
All you will hear
Is a life, in these
Small sounds.
The Architect
I am the
Architect of
The prison I'm in
Intimidating edifice
Composed of all my sin
Just how it went so wrong
Don't know where to begin
Now I'm trapped in this place
With the things I fear and hate
Though I knew better-I blamed fate
Fake philosophy and religiosity aside
From consequences-there's no where to hide...