Sleep Eludes Me

 Sleep eludes me like a lover,

A lover that but exists in dreams,

Dreams that bewitch sense,

Dreams, sitting on the fence.

A fence that holds those who sin.

A fence that pricks and hurts my skin 

Skin, that wrinkles, in wait of love and

Night, that lights in dire dove.

Dove that flew around my dreams,

Dreams of lovers, and shrewd means.

Means to wish a pause in learn,

And here I wish, my sleep return.

Revisited

 He revisited.

Came and sat beside me,
And asked why my mix-tape
Mused to melancholy.
And I stared blank into
The whiteness of the blank walls
That surrounded me.
I looked out the window
Waiting for answers to pass through me
But the day was as silent as my lips
And no winds blew
Carrying the replies I needed.

His smiles started to level.
And he demanded reasons of my silence.
And reasons, were met with silence.
The window was still open,
The horizon grew invisible
Covered with gray clouds
I could feel the rain's first drop
As could my eyes, wettened, by rain?

He gave up, told me I needed help.
But didn't offer.
The rains weren't concealed anymore.
That day saw a deluge.
And he left, like always,
Under the coloured shades of his umbrella.
My mix-tape kept playing
And rains poured, everywhere.

He was me, younger.
He was happier.

Eclipse

The luna had arrived and hid the sol
And plunged in darkness the
whole wide land of the masked souls.
And the souls did come to view the glory
of a barren moon
Concealing that which
whose stories were told.
The birds illusioned
their sun had gone .
And their time
to chirp and play was slept
to rest this rebelling day .
Then came the brainiacs with
ideas thousands.
And theories of how the lives of
humans lay in unrest
For an arrangement of
bodies unheard away had been
so naive to nocturnal nascency .
And the glittering
eyes of a tad fat teen
Shone as white as a keen sunday,
And another box of a
checklist was ticked away to glee . 

Chaos

What if man never came into existence?
Man, funnily enough, a synonym for humans,
And not the half of them.
What if man, again, never came into existence?
Existence, that demands to be proven.
Existence, that tests your threshold of tolerance.
Tolerance, another creature of mythical memory.
Memory that is a bubble waiting to be popped open
And deluge the unknown air of nascent nostalgia.
Nostalgia, an over-worked vagrant
That used to be a prince,
Until memory turned malignant,
And desires turned dark.
Dark, the reigning emperor
Of the gentles of night.
And night, the mysterious warrior,
That wins the lost war against truth.
Truth, that is everything but true.
Truth, as fickle as fame and flame are.
Truth, so misrepresented in its different chronicles,
Disguising lies as the absence of true reasoning.
Reasoning, that grows scant
In the irrationality of broken belief.
Belief, that existence should be worth it
And be not a solemn song
That placidly plays away to peace.
Peace, that is unknown, unheard of and unwilled
In all years that man, and woman, existed.

What if man, and woman, never came into existence?

Inside The Watcher's Mind

I am being watched,
Constantly.
And every decision I make
Is judged
By a mind so much more experienced
Than I could ever hope for my time.
I become conscious and
My forehead folds with every action,
And the watcher is always a step ahead,
As if he could rewind and play my past
And knows what my future is.

The watcher is me.

My future self, perhaps watching me
As I write this,
Adds the unwanted pressure to write good.
My future self, perhaps watching me,
As I eat and dwelve in lethargy,
Is cursing me for his ailments.
My future self blames me
For anything that goes awry,
Perhaps, I didn't do enough in my time.

I float in a bubble of memory
Inside the watcher's mind.
Scared for the bubble breaking open
And me flowing out, shrieking for help,
Help provided by the watcher me.
My rendezvous with what is yet to come
And I'm clueless, vacant on my speech,
Yet brimming with questions that I want answered,
And some better left unasked,
Wishing I could get him to stop the replays,
And implore him to stop watching
But I know I'm stubborn
And time could only have worsened that.

My shower turns drier with
The ascending scarcity of life's liquid.
And mind slithers back to normalcy,
Shower thoughts are a fancy world.