Drifting between the boundary of being and nothingness

An ephemeral curtain hangs swaying

All desire, and pain, and rage, and anguish

An invariant boundary here lying

Peering through the curtain i see a light

Unmentionable by words

The colour of the light i couldn't say

The pull is unmeasurable, lines blurred

This side of the curtain lies hope and despair

The other a miasma

The curtain says not if to approach or not

Maybe the colour of the veil is a drama

Written on the curtain are countless words

Unbounded by restrains of language or logic

It hangs steady yet moving at once

This pull, is it ironic or tragic

I read a few words and see a meaning in them

Yes it all makes sense now

The other indecipherable scrawls i ignore

And to the momentary glimpse i bow

Stuck in perdition flows through me

A dilemma unresolvable by thought

Try and jump across a door that doesn't exist

The last passing thought forgot

The pull from this side is strong

Binding l, constraining me

The other side holds promise

Of a better colour to see

Yet that colour i can't name

The veil i can't cross

Stuck here, chained

Who am I, I forgot

What is this life I asked myself?

Sunshine, meadows and rain?

Or is there something deeper still

Intermixing joy and pain?

What is the truth I wondered aloud?

Is it the absence of lies?

Or more a stream of conscious thought,

Flying in bright blue skies.

What is passion and devotion? I said.

The want that wants some more?

Or is it a devilish mirage,

Meant to embolden the soul?

Why do dreams die horrible deaths?

And why do fears respawn?

Why is money universally praised?

Loyalty and trust withdrawn.

What is the world I finally thought?

The play of yin and yang?

With these thoughts, I stepped off

The edge whilst my spirit sang.

Q: Why did you make human's with such great potential?

A: I made them in my own image. Of course they'd have great potential.

Q: Why did you make evil people then?

A: I was bored.

Q: Why do you make good people suffer and evil people prosper?

A: Maybe you dont know this about me but my sense of irony is unmathed in the multiverse.

Somewhere in the vast expanse of the universe is a planet that is home to a very singular race of beings. What makes them radically different from other beings of this universe is the fact that they lead highly interesting lives. For example, Trafiakar a minor shoe salesman, one afternoon went to get himself some tea, and, along the way won a lottery, met a princess and was instated as the crown prince of the realm. Of course, the next day the realm went completely broke and a lot of people’s interesting lives were abruptly ended by war, but, who among us has ever won the lottery?

However, this is not their story.

Shiva Singh of the planet Earth like many other beings of the universe lived a drab and dingy existence. He was by coincidence, a shoe salesman. But alas there were no princesses in store for him. He was a kind, unassuming man. A throwback to the times of old when such things were valued and prized. He was a thinker this one, and in his free time indulged in writing romantic poetry. Of course, no one had the heart to tell him that his poetry was dull and boring. He liked to think of himself as a present-day Byron or Shelly and continually posted his poetry on social media.

In this, the latter half of the 21th century literature had died out with most people preferring to spend their odd moments of leisure on social media and experiencing reality senso-television. There were cameras everywhere and with the right hardware any amateur could stream his own channel of senso-tv. With almost everything automated, unemployment was at a record high.

Shiva was a believer in the controlling influence of the universe and thought it left him signs. For instance, the breaking of a lighter turned into a week of not smoking. In the end however habit won and Shiva resumed his love affair with Mary Jane. He used it for inspiration. He said it made him think deep thoughts that he would then turn into poetry. His poetry was the ultimate sign from the universe and the days he could write what he considered good poetry were bound to be good days. He also hoped to meet his soulmate one day. Someone who recognized his true potential and of course, loved his poetry.

Unfortunately all trace of Shiva Singh and his poetry was lost when the planet was destroyed to make way for an intergalactic bypass. As luck would have it though one parchment (yes they still used dead trees) found its way into the satchel of an alien reporter posing as an actor as he hitch-hiked his way off planet. It then somehow appeared on the desk of a famous politician from a planet with a very ancient democracy. The physics of how it got there are not very complicated but most people still have trouble understanding how a bicyle maintains its balance.

The politician, who shall remain unnamed for legal reasons was just about to admonish his secretary for leaving trash on the table when he happened to read the words. The words had a deep impact on him and he read them again more carefully. They seemed deep and thoughtful to his brain. This could be explained by the rogue cosmic ray bouncing in his brain similar to how pink tennis balls bounce over radio telescopes.

Through flawed logic and supreme overconfidence – two essential qualities for a politician, he decided he was going to use this piece to show his voters his sensitive side. They would lap it up and his ratings would go higher. The verse would have to be modified for reptilian anatomy and he knew just the program for the job.

“Cancel my afternoon appointments.” he informed his secretary and sat in front of the terminal. A tiny rational part of his brain screamed in agony but mistaking it for his conscience, he ignored it.

He fired up the latest propaganda software from S.C.C. which was called Lies 2.0™. This was a coincidence as the language used on the planet was not English. He hooked up the scanners to his brain which would help the program convert the written material into the output the user desired. After a lengthy process of scanning and converting which took approximately the rest of the working hours the program sent a final copy to his personal device.

‘Nicely. This will do very nicely.’ he thought to himself and headed home. In a pocket dimension which most beings are unaware of Shiva Singh howled in rage and despair. A press conference was scheduled after filling the usual forms and paying the journalists the usual propaganda fees.

A single camera sat at the centre of the room transmitting to whoever paid the access fees. Our venerable politician cleared his throat and began his performance.

“I have thought considerably and deeply about the divide that exists between us reptilians and humanoids on our planet. As many of you have deduced I am a stable genius and have come up with a most elegant solution. It came to me while watching my secretary go about his normal humanoid business. I realized that we are not so different you and us. I can explain it better with this verse I have penned.” saying so he started his recital.

As I gazed into your two human eyes,

I was mesmerized.

My three chambered hearts pumped in unison.

The blood flowed straight to my hemipenis .

How I wished to taste your slender lips,

with my cold hard snout.

I wished to scream and make a lot of noise suddenly,

as my kind does during romance.

But the fear of scaring you away has kept me silent.

I wish you would look beyond this rough exterior,

to the cold heart beating within.

To have you locked in my embrace forever,

I’d commit a thousand sins.

He then bowed and made his way off the podium.

That day was a significant moment in that planet’s history. Those watching him wept tears of joy at having a leader who understood the common man. His ratings soared and he was suddenly in line for presidency. The lizards ruled and the people kept electing them again and again. The universe continued its slow dance towards heat death.

Meanwhile in that pocket dimension Shiva Singh, catatonic with despair kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

“My grocery list. My only legacy to survive was my God damn grocery list.”

I am hesitant to associate the name of the writer who inspired me to this amatuerish piece but as twitter keeps telling me again and again (even though I don’t have an account) YOLO. If he is turning in his grave atleast it might give him momentary respite because lying on you back for extended periods is bad. Thnak you for writing the most amazing book I have ever read. RIP Douglas Adams.

Taking time to think about it,

this journey we’re all enjoying.

The ups, downs, twists and turns.

The hurricanes, hazards we all pass through.

The one companion in all our travels,

the lone voice of defiance.

This is my life, my rules it says.

The voice in the back of your head.

Keep faith, hold steady, trust yourself,

are some insights to be gained.

Never back down my friend, my body,

Till I collapse or till I’m dead.

The voice is me, so is the one hearing.

thinking I think is so endearing.

This game of which is which is fun.

without you voice I would be undone.

The childish jokes at inappropriate times,

the inebriated insidious whispers,

the chilled out high tones,

some of the things everyone knows.

The dull void within my head,

tries to silence my personal punster.

Sometimes though I hear it call,

have you forgotten me? I’m still here asshole.

I take comfort in the fact

that I can still rage against the dying.

Till I collapse, the voice in my head,

will sing a song of defiance.

Do not go gently into that good night - Dylan Thomas

#freeverse

#tornesor

Sometimes, somewhere, out of sight

Without rhyme or reason.

I walk by myself in the fading light,

Pondering the changes of the season.

I marvel at the beauty of this cycle.

Oh cynical me is shattered.

Witness to this pan galactic miracle,

All black thoughts are scattered.

I struggle to find the words,

Nuances and gestures to say.

Do these expressions even exist?

Or shall I invent them this day?

A wobbly moon, drunk on splendor.

Stumbling across the sky.

The stars so stunningly stratospheric,

Reflected in your blue eye.

The Pleiades seven shimmering sisters,

Staring straight through me.

Andromeda painted with bright colours,

Fills my heart with glee.

But then the magic spell is broken,

And I see what things truly are.

A pale blue speck of dust our planet,

Circling a small orange star.

And on this tiny speck, we humans,

Have drawn imaginary lines.

The blood spilled for them is real,

So are the broken spines.

This war for what and whom we wage?

Our master on the throne?

Or is it some unrecognisable monster,

Who we think of as our own.

Then another spell is cast,

Do you know what I see?

These lines erased, this bloodshed stopped,

The whole planet, one country.

But alas I know the truth too well,

That day will come to pass.

But I won’t be here to see it,

I’ll be beneath the grass.

Till then fight your wars oppressors,

Enjoy your tiny victories.

In the end it’s I who’ll win,

For now do as you please.

Remember this though cruel tyrant,

History does not forget.

Your names will be the greatest curses,

Your works seen with regret.

One day banjara’s words will rise,

And tear down this facade.

The seasons will once again sing,

From the lips of another bard.

I try to gaze away

it pulls my eyes back.

Each and every day

all I see is black.

I use my indomitable will

and shift my eyes around.

Until the merest glimpse

of a new view is found.

It slides back into focus

once again ahead,

the view is gone from sight

filling me with dread.

That momentary vision

of something else new

fills my heart with joy

no more am i blue.

This infernal game I play,

the house always wins,

the highs the lows the tears and pain,

the courage of the brave and the sinner’s sins.

All my friends are dead.

They talk through their art.

They tell me how they felt,

when we were centuries apart.

They were there before me.

I wont be the last.

To see the void cloud my vision,

to feel helpless, alone, aghast.

the gods are uncaring,

the sages full of lies.

Scholars bitter and cynical,

the flag of hatred flies.

Somewhere, someone will feel the same

and say or paint or write.

The abyss will momentarily fade,

a new view will come in sight.

What in the hell is reality,

Electrical signals in the brain?

Or is it a confluence of matter and energy?

All aboard the spacetime train.

When I touch your face is it just atoms?

Or are you more than the sum of your parts?

When we’re separated by miles this anxiety,

Is it just serotonin and epinephrine charts?

This longing for a purpose in life,

Can it be attributed to evolution?

A psyche designed to seek patterns everywhere,

Even in death, destruction and convolution.

What is sadness my dear friend?

A lack of dopamine in my head?

These feelings ain’t logical you say,

When I say I’d be better off dead.

Love and friendship can be explained,

With oxytocin being the culprit.

This feeling of self sacrifice for a molecule,

Is it truly worth it?

The brain is a wondrous organ, is true.

Computing this and measuring that.

But the feelings generated in it,

That’s where reality is at.