September

Flakes of gold

Wither and fall from gnarled trees,

The autumn is catching

The summer recedes

Quietly,

To hibernate

To collapse into lush silence,

Cloud lines floating

Silver sun hiding

Shadows

Longing to touch the earth

Cold quilt,

To keep you awake at night.

I keep a leaf

In my book

For you,

I hold it close to me

Its scent tingling

Expanding inside me,

Dry leaves

Crumbling in my fist

So many

Blown away by the wind

So many

But you I keep

I hold you close to me.

Tell Me

Tell me.
Tell me what you feel.

It never is, nothing,
I sense your restlessness
When our eyes become strangers
A hesitation in the taking of hands
Your fingers, coiling around the cold
Door handle, pale in the tightness of your grip.

I feel your disturbed soul
The vague blankness on your brow
That hides the wounds,
The clawing that tears you
The painful twists of your heart
I see you hurting,
And it hurts me so much.

The silence talks to me at night
An uncomfortable quietness
A desperation, indecipherable
The window seems to provide you with
Some solace, the darkness
Seeps into you.

So tell me, then
Let me go through
To your heart and gently coax
The fear and the anxiety
Your feelings, I cradle them
They are precious to me.

So be honest,
Even it shatters me,
For you resonate as I do,
And I resonate as you
Our bond, stronger,
Than separation.

Coo

Alighting on the perch of a window sill,
A dove ruffles it’s feathers, it’s beak pecking
In ratatat, jarring, as if it’s neck were a spring
It stares at the sunrise, in deep contemplation
A silent wonderment each new morn, the majesty
Was it’s to own and bask in, as the pagan surveys
The surrounding, rather alone, with a menagerie
Of curtained inky windowpanes with a gleaming star
In the middle, sparkling the sky-scraping landscape
In one glorious vision, a thousand suns off a thousand
Panes, echo location carries back the light,
To distinctly demarcate, the avian, till the window sill
Disturbed, a shudder of wings, a flash of fiery feather
Vanish, a thousand doves in flight,
A pair of eyes looks out of the glass, scratches head
Looks at the sun for a long five seconds,
Yawns, and goes back to bed.

Insomnia

Night shells time wounds deeper,
Darkness the lonely hour breaks
Wreath round neck skin tingles
Breath leaves the snow to melt,
Broken water the boat unsteady
Buds the savage moon in tandem
Love, the midnight wild wolf-song
Serenades sorrow the silver flame
Burns in musty bolted chambers
Sirens tempt the shattered illusions
Slinking cats the distrustful impulse
Feelings trust worn never mend.

Consummation

I remember,
Wincing when you put
That injection, it
Wasn’t your hand
But you were trying
Not to cry, knowing
That it was you
I looked at you
Through the glass
Unable to speak
Strapped to the bed
I was staring at you
Through the glass,
You looked away
I pretended the pain
Was unreal,
That my arm hadn’t been
Ripped from it’s socket
That you didn’t eat
My fingers crisped
The nails crunching your mouth
Teeth red with the blood
Drying, swiftly wiped on
My shirt, breathing so close
The stench of flesh
My flesh, in you holding
This love between us,
Shove it down my throat
Metallic tongue touch
It’s electric, the steel
Intestine, down my throat
Won’t bite it, I promise
I’ll bring you, my love
I’ll bring you
My head on a platter.

If I Am But The Name You Gave Me

If I am but the name you gave me,

The shroud you covered me in

Mossed etching on a rotten stone

Dusty diary strewn on the floor

Wilted clothes in an aging cupboard,

Frozen and hung on the wall.

Old scar, itching and healing

The warmth of the summer sea sun

A labyrinth of murky stories,

Concealed trapdoors, hurriedly forgotten.

Some remembered on smoky nights

Rest cinders in the rubbish heap

In the brimming silo of time,

Eternal allure of reflections

The trace is eager to find,

Buried bodies, breathing life.

If I am but the name you gave me,

And all that I’ve left behind

I’m gracious for the slumber

In this silent house, benign.

Dismantling the Concept

Focus and  attention.

At one point of time, I can only focus on one thing. Let’s assume there is a table, a chair and a waste-basket in a room. As I enter the room, I see the table and chair, but not the waste-basket which is placed in the corner of the room. My attention is on the table and chair. A second later my attention swivels to the waste-basket. The table and the chair vanish from direct sight. But I know that they are there. You see, moments of perception such as the table-chair moment and the waste-basket moment, essentially times, come together to create the present. Memory holds it together, for as I turn to the waste-basket, I remember that the table-chair are in the room, so I conclude that the room has a table, a chair and a waste-basket within its four walls. It’s beautiful, the concepts at work here. As I leave the room, take a step out of it, opening the door, I know that if I re-enter it, I will see the same things in their place – nothing would have moved. The concept of the table, chair and the waste-basket, the properties I have ascribed to those physical objects through learning and experience of them, tell me that they are inanimate objects, and thus would not move from their place. To confirm this, I re-enter the room. Imagine my surprise, or rather shock, if I find that the three objects have vanished, similar to the shock I would feel if I looked first at the table and chair, then at the waste-basket and then “empty” space where the table and chair had been, that the table and chair had vanished.

Let’s look at the concept of the room itself.  A space enclosed within four walls, a roof and (not necessarily) an entry of some kind into that space. “The car has room for four people”, it has space, or probably seating for four people. That’s how we function: attributing concepts to physical objects – our interaction with them dictated by our understanding of their structure, and their functioning – both created by us for them (in case of artificial objects). Coming back to the concept of the room, I know that the walls are solid and so are the objects – table, chair and waste-basket inside it, so now I know that if I lock the door, they can’t escape – solid can’t go through solid – so imagine my shock if I unlock the door and find them missing. Let’s take two considerations into account, first, that the room is windowless and has no entrance/ exit, other than the door, that it is impenetrable otherwise (including the floor) and second, that I have the only key to the room which I’m sure no one has taken from me. So, how do I think the furniture escaped?

The problem area is me.

Just because I’m sure that no one else has taken the key from me, does not mean that no one else has taken the key from me. This shows the gap that exists between reality and our account of it, spurred by our experience and perception. That seems the most likely conclusion, that someone took the key from me, without my knowledge of it. The other conclusion is that someone dismantled the door. Look at my concepts at work here – “someone”. It had to be a person, how else would inanimate objects move? How can another animal or plant dismantle the door? Why can’t it be a machine? Hasn’t artificial intelligent developed to that extent?

If we think about our logical connections and learning, I think the results will surprise us, especially, the amount of interaction with the world that takes place inside our head.