Sunday, February 21, 2010


As she angrily struggled to hide the stubborn tears from her father upon taking off yet again into the always awaiting chock full of remote possibilities of what may be and whys and wherefores, she was sure of one thing and one thing only - the next time as those many occurrences encore, things will never, ever be the same, ever again. In a multitude, myriad of ways.

Hits and misses,
ghosts and corpses.

Plenty of times she had made the return journey. Plenty of times she burst into flames. Plenty of times she stumbled upon observant discoveries. Plenty of times she played this foolish game. But this time, as gracefulness and gracelessness were simultaneously felt, the tears they eked out uncalled for, unforgivable. Heartfelt hope and heart, they melt.

It wasn't too bad, what a fool she'd be to start complaining.

Now, would you kindly pass me the salt shaker? It is, but time.

Shangri-la, scream that you're happy
Shangri-la, even if you fall over on a straight path

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Remnants Revisited

Recollections of yesternight indeed. Well, quite.

I spied with my eye as I hover-revolved - occasionally perching - around the throes of mental battle ensuing an excessive sluice of the written as those individuals rendezvoused amidst the city lights underneath a sole, sparkling star. The resounding stillness of the night was left to settle, only haphazardly punctuated by the constant barking of a distant dog.

Black, I imagined.

The rumblings of modern machinery were curiously absent. It could possibly be that its ubiquity has deigned or bowed its head to what is seemingly - or presumably - the oblivious.

No, not oblivion. Surely not.

It was as if time obligingly stood still, defying its very own principle of impatient indifference, forsaking the minute hand - threatening it that if it were to budge even a nanomiliminute, it would be immediately discharged of its duties and the second hand be immediately promoted to play both (very prosaic, imo) roles.

But we all know that the minute hand knew better.

Well well, shame on you Father Time.

Monday, February 1, 2010


Hexagonal, polygonal?

they see love in a kaleidoscope of ways.
Some give and give - relentlessly, unconditionally.

Wonder for me.

As for me,
love takes form as naturally
as reciprocation, the form
of thankfulness,
of thanksgiving.

I'm a taker and I

I'm a learner and a

And if there is
one thing,
a lesson,
as far as my mind can reason,

The gemlike fragments
tumble and combine
hyperbole, elliptical
topology divine...

may forever be
to me


- an idle mind, Febru airy '10