Something rises up like smoke from your lungs and you blow it into the air..

If you walk down

towards the end of the corridor

you shall see,

feel, and smell

the smoke:

black smoke from the old cigarettes

between every pair of fingers:

soft or stiff.

While in wet days

towards evening

if you walk past the Greens,

you shall see the sun

shining on your face

peeking out from among the grey.

And you shall feel

something rising up

within you:

some old feeling of longing,

or a bond with life

of a different kind.

Yes.

Life starts here.

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Life of timeless moments!
We wait everyday
Living in empty pleasure
Of our strange society,
For the end.

As eyes shall learn of age
In the years of uncertain future
Wet glasses on brown pages,
Burnt leaves from a lost journal
Shall return to life.
"Tearful eyes when looked at the stars
Never knew when they would come down."

Derelict are the gates
We enter life through;
And Fate arrests this ever-going
Strangeness of life
And sends us to some lost heaven.

Remembrance of some lost significance
Breeds memories spent with
Old friends;
Like March they come,
And like December they depart.

Round we go about this world of contradiction
On a rudderless ship of cards
Sailing where the wind takes us,
Lost in the ghastly seas
Or reaching the oceans to drown
Or reaching our own door
All over again.

I am sick of the dull consequences
Of blunt imagination!
Holding the sun in your hand
Or being afraid to step outside.

And even now:
There are children
In closed houses
Within closed walls
Who the fear the sound of thunder.

September, 2012.

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Quite En Regle

I walk in drenched evenings

Following the smell of April twilights

And the faint sound of destiny

Lingering in the distance.

Dead skeletons shout slogans of

Emancipation

From overpopulated graveyards;

And hounds of the night

Cry.

Quite en regle.

They are

Sights

That torch our eyes.

Words

That scar our hearts.

------

Photographs in closed cupboards

Housing hundred memories

Are bedaubed with the blood of lost years:

Life's Ignis Fatuus is full of

Smoke:

Yellow Smoke that rises

From this muskeg

Of ghostly lights

And truthful liars.

Cacophonous gramophones

With their musical clap-trap!

What emotions?

What life?

What death?

What humanity?

We are but a soulless group of souls

Groping in the mud

For some lost coin.

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