Vice Versa

I am concealed in destitute
in whispers and in shadows
I am omnipresent
bringing forth hope
in innocence and in radiance

I am a specter that lurks in quiet
frayed at the edges, fading
thriving in the dark.
I am an opaque entity,
distinct and burning bright
reigning in open light.

Where I may never be found
forever elusive
behind an illusion of deceit
Where I may never be shunned
forever brave
as free as wind upon grass

Safe and sound
till the disquiet of the light
illuminates me
Safe and sound
till the silence of the dark
consumes me

Then,
The dark lightens
The light darkens
and there I am!
I am infinity,
living and dying – merging at the seams.
Both lost and found,
illuminated and darkened, I am.

dark_and_light_by_alement-d47729k

Somethings, Nothings and ‘It’

Something and nothing
Somewhere and nowhere
Somebody and nobody
Sometime and never

You often wonder, why? the ‘why’ does not necessarily pertain to something specific, be what it may – a person, a situation, yourself. but there’s this soft, subtle, ‘why’ whispered in the all-consuming darkness, that only you are present to witness.

I hardly want to make a point here, more like rave and rant.

There have been a few things – some things that have left me at a loss, an existential crisis, I hardly complain as these things have let the brain in a constant state of furious overdrive. Then there is nothing(s), just like everything, a point in a vortex that keeps circling, on and on, never to really stop, is it then, is it just this? A circle, a slow, a fast, tumultuous whirlwind.

Sometimes you DO care, sometimes you only care, sometimes you do not care and sometimes you just DO NOT care. Perhaps it is because I try to read too much in between the lines but…I do see a difference between the four states.
Then there is nothing(s), and it’s only a product of overexertion or too much nonchalance, either way it does not really matter because there is nothing, and nothing matters.

But, if it matters, does it matter because you want it to matter so?
or
Does it not matter because you do not want it to matter? Is it an illusion? In that hypothetical context you’d argue that if everything IS an illusion, what is the point of it?like I mentioned before, I do not seek to make a point here, but to merely generalize.

Yep, I’m playing safe.
Hmm…I’d like to call it my Slytherin sense of ‘self-preservation
though I’m much more Gryffindor.

Once I had read an amazing piece:

There were four friends – Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody
Once a task was assigned to Everybody, Somebody, Anybody.
Everybody thought Anybody could do it.
Anybody assumed Somebody would surely do it and did not find it necessary to confirm.
Somebody, in turn, gauged that Everybody had to do it.
When the date of submission finally dawned the three of the four friends took to blaming one another
and out of the confusion a conclusion was then drawn that finally, Nobody had completed the task.

I read this quite some time back, years actually, but it stuck with me, you can probably see why.
Imagination is baffling, it scares me at times.

Picture this I, you, we are Somebody, you or I may be Anybody and we make Everybody.
Or just a Nobody, drifting along the fluctuating graph of time, that is clearly running out. But I’m not scared, I may have found a closure, a sense of an ending.
Anyway it’s all psychological .i.e it’s all in my head, whether it’s real? well well…what did Dumbledore say?

“Of course it’s happening in your head, but that does not mean it’s not real ” and Dumbledore is never wrong.


My muse is hiding

The alleyway was dark and dank, a centuries old cobbled path
that twisted and turned till it was swallowed by the profound dark
like an unwinding snake,the treacherous night shrouded the other end
from prying eyes.
The brick walls of the old architecture bared it’s broken bones and
the paint, peeling, like the skin from that of a leper
filth! filth everywhere.
cloaking the surround, emanating a wicked sense of foreboding,
like a deadly calm before a fierce storm.
the alleyway led on, innocent gestures concealing twisted desires and intentions
like a naught Emperor leading his lords to
‘the end’

When the lead is over, you turn,
as quiet as a black cat in the dead of this deceitful night.

There you’ll see, a place where:
wicked intentions, twisted desires and ends meet

A vision that confirms your greatest fear.

Well, ranting helps. Really. And, my muse is tempted to come out of hiding.

The Apocryphal Transition

Late into the night willful sleep evades my company. I sit by my study swimming in varied hues of blue and the bluest, contemplating solitude. The thrill in the air does not pass by unnoticed to the mournful eyes, the sorry hands clasped, entwined in patient waiting. The last of the light begins to flicker, for a prolonged moment, signalling an end while the eyes gaze on.

I sense your familiar being, the rough of those toiling hands against my skin, the breathing – tremulous, contradicting the solemn air. Then in a deep kiss the world vanishes, the night dissolves in the distant background, the cold dissipates into an incredible warm, the blues are impregnated with colors of fierce passion. The fullness invading my being is overwhelming, satiating, quenching. Tempest shakes the very foundations of calmness. This is, this is the endless night, the night without an end. The night our escapade will be held , for eternities to come, in the whispers of lovers in the darkness, in the sinful promises of tomorrow.

Deliverance is an impassioned gift of Satan. A tempestuous kiss of the air on the quiet lips of black waters.

Tonight is the night of passing on; to the other side, which awaits, to hold us into it’s arms, this is the night of transition. The demons of the other side are tempting; twisted in his demands and broken in his promises the Devil has insinuated himself in the womb of the desiring Angel, of desires unfathomable, the darkest and the deepest.

” No thirst of ye shall remain unquenched” sayeth the Devil

The dying candle throws coquettish shadows on the peeling walls, the two shadows move in a perfect rhythm, the music of lust is unbridled, never ending;

The candle dies, I look into your eyes, the dark depths of need in mine are reflected in yours and yours in mine. The prolonged release. The perfect union. The ritual is come to a close and the night will soon close on us.

The blades are drawn, Not in fear, but in an unbreakable vow that we have pledged. The perfect union of the night will remain a memory, the night will hold it’s secrets.

Dawn finds an exhausted piece of wax on a tarnished candlestick. Two beings lay in a naked embrace. The white jasmines have turned crimson. The light has left their eyes but the euphoria remains frozen in their smiles.

At the end of our transition the whiteness blinds everyone, but I can still sense your being against mine. The coldness of the night is no more for the light is bright and unblinking. The other side is where we have come. The transition has come to a final close

The Promise Of The World

The smile that trembles deep behind your tears
Is the promise of the world since the beginning of time

Even if I’m alone now, from our yesterdays
Today is born sparkling

Like the day we first met
You’re not in my memories

You turn into a breeze and touch my cheeks
Even after our parting in the afternoon with the sun beaming through the trees

The promise of the world won’t ever end

Even if I’m alone now, tomorrow is limitless
You taught me about

The kindness that lurks in the night
You’re not in my memories

So live forever in the song of the streams
In the colour of this sky, in the fragrance of flowers
In the Glitter of the stars
In the gleam of the moon
In freedom

For me, be the promise of the world

The Eve of Night’s Reign

I watched the lonely bird disappear in the horizon
The Queen dispatched the warm orange of her day’s Sun to pursue it.
The kingdom of Sky was an endless canvas of yellow,
the occasional orange and red streaking across.

The soft breeze, like satin caressed my skin.

Those were the telltale signs
The time had come.

The dying rays of Sun directed my pursuit
leading me into the canopy of your dwelling
among the trees that stood tall and somber.

I thought I heard the familiar rustle of the leaves
like the forest was waking from it’s enchanted slumber

Had you come for me?

I reached out for you.
Sure enough a branch of oak encircled my waist.
The light is failing fast.
I turn around in your arms
looking through the dimness
into the dark brown of your eyes,
partly concealed under the yards of chestnut.

The musk of pine in your breath entices my senses
the deep wheat of your skin reflects the last of the golden light.

In a tremulous outreach I pick a fly-away leaf from your rippling mass of chestnut.
A hint of a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

Then in a swish of your cloak
–a kiss on my lips
–a click of of your heels
you’re gone again

Back in the open

The Sun has gone — not into oblivion.
The Queen has retrieved her forces.
Somewhere a monotonous bird calls to it’s mate
The fly-away leaf lays in my open palm, gazing.
The sounds of the forest are returning

I think I hear a thousand hooves
A war horn screams afar — in glorious victory.
The King is here to reign.
Her day is stepping aside.

The kingdom of Sky welcomes the pearly calm of Moon
And the King rides in with his vast, bellowing cloak of midnight blue.

De Mourir

Things they say of the dead
Whispering in shades of monochrome

OnceĀ one is gone
One can never come back

Through rainbow tinted glasses I peer
In dirges tones that i hear

Things of the dead that they whisper

They say that the climb is taxing
Not taxing enough to pay heed
The shadows on the other side
are the only friends that i have

Their friendship that binds me tight
like a czar’s iron fist
their grip is like vice
the vice like the creeper’s lust of poisoned nettle

Trapped in time’s hourglass
the passage of an era passes
unnoticed by our tired eyes

The yellowed pages of my parchment
long forgotten, long abandoned
wither with burdened age,
the innate scribbles gone, forever.

The smear of the crimson ink
staining my pale hands
accusing me of murder.
Poor murderous souls of ours.
Are they so?

A lone ghost from the shadow
Whispers in tones somber
Once one is gone
one can never come back

Shadows that swirl in
the brightest of illuminations
Haunting, forever.

The view of the other side is gratifying
The sky in painted
in brilliant shades of blood and grime
The ground is teeming
in blackness, a blackness that crawls

Corpses,shrouded by the darkness, stare
glassy eyes that hold no fear.
Driven by the force of shadows.
Driven by whispers of insanity.
Crawling, dauntless, forever.

But beyond the shadows
But beyond the ghosts
But beyond the corpses
But beyond all the lost souls
There was a part of me

A part of me that
Fell in quiet sleep
Awakening only in oblivious eternity
A part of me that died,
With you, without you.

And I recollect that
you had whispered vaguely in my ears

Once one is gone
one can never truly come back.