Breeze of Depression.

Depression Longings. Aloneness. Love within. Lights Darkness. Noises.

Twilight blows his horn.
Dissonant sound
disorganising my eardrums.
Traffic becomes a pilgrimage of slugs.
The crowd, like bees buzz
And no one looks face to face.

A mood, once light
Like season of harvest.
And paced up like birds
Returning to nest.
Now silence makes a fuss
between him and me
and him and them
and them and me
and them and us.
Suddenly a gush of melancholy
and a volcanic mountain of words erupts

The breeze of depression
sways

our

moods,

dictates

our

speech.

Exploits
our

expeditions.
It is a band of woodpeckers
Lights that once glowed bright
sat on my pupils and reminded me of the days of “The River Between!

Breeze calm. . .
Sound of a horn plays
tunes in assonance

Traffic smoothenes

But the crowd is not bothered

Luck bestowed,

for the lake with shores,

The breeze changes course

The breeze takes a leaf

Depression follows

Eyes gather the strength to meet

to look at another of their kind

And only you is around

With a bouquet full of love.

BRUISES ON MY BLOG

A tale from a dreamer. . .

Perhaps It is a question of point of view. Which is individualistic. Or perhaps it is that- expected out of you because majority find it so.Or because society has branded it as the way to go.
How possible is it for consciousness to sit on the same table with the material world? Eat and drink from breakable plates and cups respectively?
The existence of consciousness, how firm is it , in expressivity of this it’s inherent flow?
I think it as an illusion.
But in thinking so, I pause. . .If it is an illusion as I think, then I have to exist. These among other questions exhaust my body, mind and soul with so much anxiety. I scratch my head like a chicken beaten by the rain.
I am a complete loss to attention even when someone is speaking to me. Amidst the crowd, the noise, the un-settledness, I seem stuck in a nest of loneliness. I forget to lay my bed. I don’t do my homework. I forget to iron my clothes and polish my shoes. I can’t learn my lines in drama.worse still, I fail to live in the moment during a given rehearsal period.
It creates so many challenges in my life. My Director says: ‘You could do this .’ Or: ‘You could easily make that character But you don’t care enough.’ I have been to beaches of solitude. Pampered myself on a meditation lane. I have swiftly sailed on a wave lane of positivity. But never a diagnosis. They just say that I am a dreamer.
A dreamer in a world which is unsafe. A dreamer in a world that does not entertain dreaming. A dreamer in a world that always beats dreamers. A dreamer means child. So I need to become an adult. I need to grow up and do material things. So that I am stable. So that I can buy a plot of land one day and get myself a wife and produce children and make a home. So that I am not just trapped beneath a bridge—thinking these thoughts. Pondering about and visualising.
But who knows how hard finding that energy is? Before I begin I must know if life is absurd. I can’t live in an illusion. I want to be in the moment. I want to be mentioned. I want to be a tree and stop admiring it. I want to be lucid. I need that assurance that I am doing things for a reason. That I am giving out energy for a reason.That I am a continuation of a template that was once and is and yet.
If death is the end of all this– and nothing but emptiness after that– then it’s a terrible problem.
But is it?
It would be better to not exist than to exist in a world without meaning.”

If I could, I would. . .

If I could,
. . . . . . . . .I would sail with you.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .I would carry with me all my belongings.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .And leave without saying goodbye.

If I could,
. . . . . . . . . I would be the clouds
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . On which you walk.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I would feel the warmth of your feet.

If I could,
. . . . . . . . . .I would be the day.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..And I would welcome you in such a way
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Water is given room at the bay.

If I could,
. . . . . . . . .I would be the night.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . I would keep all stars quite
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . For you to sleep safe and sound.

If I could,
. . . . . . . . . I would be the leaves.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . And feel the gentle touch of your hands.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Then arise forth like a newly born smiling.

If I could,
. . . . . . . . .I would become an eagle.
. . . . . . . . . . . . And soar high in the sky
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Just to give it a try
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .To get close to you.

If I could,
I would become the earth.
So that I feel your essence all around me.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .If I could,
. . . . . . . . . . . . .I would. . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .If I could,
. . . . . . . . . . . . .I would. . .

But I am only human.
With a bleeding pen in my hands.
A leakage of emotions from my heart.
Sometimes, I burn the midnight oil.
Just so, I am an owl.
What has a chameleon
that I don’t have?
My dreadlocks purchase high wit
Like a bat,
I suck for knowledge.