And perhaps we were staring straight into the automaton feed, dances of pretence and pornography, your grief, my graffiti, our refuge and lingerie and bloodstreams. Of one that commits suicide and remembers the last tune exactly.
If you have never slept on slow highways and touched the narrow whispers, I know not.
Perhaps we were thinking about our sudden lapses of alchemy in the face of black. Of one that eludes Northern Highlands and lands up in the mist of the plastic eyes.
If you had never seen a seashell bargain for infinite horizons, I know not.
Perhaps we were blackening mazes and coloring sandstorms in the face of shining screams. Of one that hides my childhood in ancient touches and nocturnal bliss.
If you have never seen time stare hard at the falling leaves and empty butterflies, I know not.
And yet, perhaps we were safely caressing and cajoling, telling and tormenting, shaking and suffering, being and becoming the most unassuming inaction. Of hate. Or of casual vice. Or of the infinity of being there, all violent and all bright.
If you have never tricked the devil, killed the pattern and brought yourself back, I know not.
Credits : Everything till date.
This is your first work that I have read and I came across your blog by accident.I plan to read more.Honestly I could not understand what you wanted to express in this piece of work.I mean your writing is excellent of course but I don't think I could follow the philosophy behind it and at times it just seemed a little too arty for the sake of being intellectual.I am not a writer and I certainly don't possess such writing prowess as yours but I comment as a reader.Art is justified only when it can lend some peace of mind and momentary comfort to its audience.I hope you don't mind my comments and I am sure its my limited knowledge that fails me in identifying with the beauty of this piece.All the best for the future....:)
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading it, reaching out and taking pains to drop a note. :)
DeleteThis was my first blog post, a starter, which I was compelled to write in a sort of preamble to what would follow. This was more of a note to myself, a reminder and statement of purpose. i wish the reader would not be judgmental about this post as it directed to me, concerns me alone. The posts that follow probably bears less rumblings to self, but yes, there has been occasional ones where I was forced to abstruse. Because those were personal, written just to let it go. No art, or philosophy, or displays of intellect.
Because I am no writer, I write for myself. And that lends me peace of mind and momentary comfort, as you pointed out.
:)