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Monday, September 8, 2014

Poetry Done Quick

This one's very spontaneous and very real, and hence I have no explanation. Just read it.
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Reflection on the Day Before Bedtime

Why can't I see?
I've dissected every possibility
I've peeped into every crack of light
I've burrowed through the crumbly mud of depression and self-loathing
I've done it right.
Believe me, I have.
I've taken every precaution
I've double-checked everything
All of it is exactly as it should be
But still I feel gaps that let in the cold air,
That steals the warmth in my spirits
And leaves me shivering, heavy, blinded

My eyelids droop and I don't know why
I see clearly all those things
That I don't want to see
That I want to deny
That I wish were not true
The betrayals, the hatred, the manipulation, the duplicity
The hypocrisy, the fake smiles, the murder of morals
The selfishness, the crude lies, the rumour-mongering
Confound it all!
That's all I see!
Why can I not see
The things I want to see?
Peace and laughter and friendship and trust
And sharing, and compassion and honour and respect
Those things that seem so real until I begin to believe in them
And then they bare their teeth and transmogrify
Into swooshing imposing dark shadows
Flying in swirling motion all around the inside of my head
Laughing maniacally; or worse still, they become
Honey-sweet words, or promises of love, silver tongues dripping
With selfishness, malice, poison, revenge!

Why the insecurity?
What have I ever done to you?
What can I ever do to you, for have you not weakened me enough?
What bounds can I overstep, for have you not already hemmed me in?
What pride can I display, for have you not already humiliated me?
Am I so powerful that you fear me?
Is my oath too strong for your plans?

I've taken every step with careful consideration
Walked a web of tightropes
Navigated carefully, cushioned your ego
Made you comfortable in your flimsy existence
So what's wrong?
Do visions of my prospects, my future
Remind you where you stand in comparison?

Oh the horror, when my bliss of numbers and words
Must give way to anger and sadness and wasteful rants
When the dreams of a pair of young eager eyes
Are mocked and betrayed and quashed
By those meant to protect,
Just because those dreams are real and possible and imaginable
Unlike what young dreams tend to be,
And in being rational and impossible to dismiss as fantasy,
In being on the way to becoming reality--
In being plausible without abandoning
Honour, vision, kindness, love, friendship, trust,
Poetry, politeness, light, laughter, truth--
They intimidate all those who, in fear and weakness,
Have abandoned their dreams in the dark mad-houses
Of that voyeur of life called Time

They are defeated
They are done, they are yesterday
And thus they resent those
Who have much left to dream of
And so much left to do --
Who still stand a chance to win.
But let them, let them wither and waste;
Let them, let them die;
The young are too young to decode their lies
The young are too tired to sit up and think.
It is past midnight.
Not the time for the young to be awake.
The young must rest.
The young must sleep.
Tomorrow, then?
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