skin under my feet

the skin under my feet
is breaking apart
I see cracks
layers of dust revealed
I like them
the cracks
the dust
the reminiscence
of yesterday
today
they remind me of
that smell,
robust
but porous
an almost physical
nostalgic smell

of wet clay?

water swallowed
by the cracks
smelling of
memories
wet
tangible

that smell

And
         so much
from these cracks
so much
from touching them
revealing
from the dust
so much

monotonous

So much ink on these pages,

flipping from one to another,

flipping through day and night,

flipping in and out of the bed.

So much goes between

the ink and the flipping,

yet we don’t realise.

Just keep flipping.


Sinking

how would you see anything
anything
if your vision is blocked
by a parasite
on the shores of hope
in the waves
of anticipation
touching your feet
at every stroke
sinking you in
the porous
tomorrow
sinking
in
today,
disappearing
              feet
      legs
         palms
    chest,
eyes
look up
to their companion
waving at the horizon
drowning
red dark spots
hover in the sight
and a crescent
above
it's getting dark
and the spots,
dark red,
are also drowning
in a darker background
        time
to go
       home


5 3 '17

Silence

my hands are coveting

the silence

which stands in front of me

naked

a desire so loud

a desire

naked

I reach out

with trembling fingers

trembling breath

I reach out to succumb

the silence

within the gaps

of my trembling fingers

within the parenthesis

of breathing
in

            and

                        out

When everything is perfect

When everything is perfect
a calmness attained
I hear a slight disturbance
a broken silence
a wilted gasp
something has escaped
from within
I can sense it's darkness
sitting in a corner
peering at me
with its anticipating look
asking for my attention
hoping for a glance
to acknowledge its presence
but I won't
I know it is right there
I can feel it's gaze
following me
touching me
piercing through me
but I'll ignore
and let it stay
feed on my ignorance
let it grow
more and more

until there is no room
for anything else
a sceptical
existence
weighs me down
until there is no room
not even for
me

22 12 '16

time

time revolves to return and halt
it falls and breaks to a satiated memory 
which can no more count
no more depart
or withstand the vast void
which lies between
inhale and exhale

a nascent caught amid the present iteration 
leaping into the darkness of anomaly
a constant struggle
a constant
that moment distracting
unconscious from conscious
that unprecedented moment
yet not present
now...
it hides and slips into a perpetual flux 
where it tends to meet with eagerness 
and stay
still moving and flickering, 
unnoticed, unattended
at times a glimpse,
a flash

kicking a stone to and fro,
touching the surface of the moving river

where does it rest?
a time which doesn’t catch attention 
when lost in thoughts,
when not conscious to care
slowly and secretly elopes 
withdrawing
into the open
ended
brackets
of
anticipation

Time revolves to return and escape. 
(2 12 ’15)