if i must dwell on things unspoken

if i must dwell on things unspoken,
then i shall let my eyes do the speaking,
but i must close them,
lest others read me and find out
the keening of my outsouled shout,
and brand me mad.

and with closed eyes,
i shall read the universe,
and with my burning tears lash out
to the stars,
their mute witness to these wounds
i fling back to them,
self-righteous forges of fires eternal,
they have been my sentinels,
but i have never known them.

and i shall clench my eyes tighter
as i dwell deeper into the furthest recesses
of the mind,
deeper and deeper i dive,
and i emerge in confluence with the galaxies,
i shall shout until my eyes burn out,
i shall ask my questions,
and i shall red their cheeks in shame.

but what can i ask that shall not break my heart?
even as i think of the words
my own shame overcomes me,
and i repent the deed undone,
except i know,
that the intent has been recorded somewhere,
in the illions of possibilities that science provides,
surely one of me put that intent to deed,
and bled himself with words unspoken.

and these clear waters that leak
from the edges of my shut eyes,
shall deepen into crimson,
and thicken as the waters of nile
in moses’ day…

if i must dwell on things unspoken,
then let my bleeding eyes shut wide tell the tale,
and judge you me…
i who do not ask forgiveness
(not out of arrogance
but out of my own incapacity
to forgive myself),
i who would not cry for help
(believing no one would,
i who blaze in the bonfires of my vanities…

judge me,
and then…
either leave me in this darkness,
or help me open these eyes


an even number

i let the shredded petals go.
one by one,
plucked by my fingers,
i watch them as they spiral
to the ground.

one remains,
clinging to the pistil
held loosely in my hand.

i turn my eyes to you.
you simply smile and say,
“now you know my answer,”
before turning around
and away.

how roundabout,
your systematic process
of breaking a heart.


the moon is resplendent tonight,
like the omen of impending what.

i woke up after sleeping all afternoon,
saw the setting of the sun within the walls of my room.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
i wish it would remain that way.

the morning began beautifully,
the choir sang like angels; i was glad to be part of it.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
like the omen of an impending unknown.

it took only an hour to shatter the beauty,
a second to send the splinters flying.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
oh, how its crimson light shines…

sometimes, in some universe, i guess,
the prodigal is sent back to wallow with the swines.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
the scarlet sheen of its face is a wonder to behold.

i will have to retrace my steps, then,
and eat husks for a little more time.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
how it colors the world… how it sings.

someday i will walk that path again,
and finally be worthy of a welcome embrace…

the moon is resplendent tonight.
listen to the music of the rhythm of dripping…

someday, but not today.
how my fear mountains and threatens to eat me.

the moon is resplendent tonight.
i will let this scarlet sea sing for me.


this is the era that i live in:
technology threatening to swallow lives,
toys finding and discovering a life of their own,
and the intellect finding newer ways to be lazy.

we have such vast amounts of knowledge,
and the more intelligent we become,
the more we realize that such plethora
of wisdom could find storage in a mere chip
no larger than thumbnails,
a universe ensconced in sand!

we have invented a million things
to serve each illusionary need,
convincing ourselves that we must, we must!
have that newest gizmo to fulfil the void
that never existed before we imagined it.

we have reached the moon, walked upon it,
sent our sights and our probes into the depths
of that vast immeasurable coldness of space,
trying to prove that truly, the gods do not exist,
and that we are the highest, the apex of evolution.

we have argued and discussed and considered,
debated and analyzed in the halls of academia,
concepts and questions and ideas —
who should rule, and why, and who we are,
and why, and really, what happened, and why…
and we play with the unbound sets of semantics,
covering our ignorance with a newer wave of words
that confuse the most ignorant, and making them
believe in our self-perceived ascendance;

we invent titles, and degrees, and gradations,
complicating everything, discombobulating each
simple idea, because of course, it cannot be
seriously regarded unless richly garbed
in the mantles of mumbled mysticism.

we have proved mightier than prometheus
in unlocking fire, not from the gods,
but from the smallest enclosures, those strongest
bastions of asymptotic freedoms — we knocked,
and the atoms obeyed our summons,
displaying their might upon our biddings,
and now we are most afraid of these
invisible units of creation, and what spells
might be cast from such evokers’ wills;

we have perfected war, made it an art,
and even in the most advanced cities,
we wage them, if not with bombs and guns,
knife and poison will serve,
or money and influence, or political promises…
what are lives, anyway, but capital
for spending, for profit, for protection.

we have learned how to squeeze out of the idealistic souls
the spark that gave them hope that tomorrow will be better;
bombarding them with false needs and false dreams,
they begin like uncut gems, holding a brilliance
they are eager to show forth; but we do not polish them,
instead we crush them, or lull them to dullness,
and all their “why’s” become “why bother” in the end.

i see it everyday.

i walked from the house to the store today,
passing by teenagers engrossed with each other,
young men and women outside school,
dancing the preliminaries that would end,
inevitably, to single parenthood,
and there was a couple shouting at each other across the street,
never mind who was watching,
and a young professional hurrying off to office,
blind to anything else but the time and the job and the pay;

at the store i bought poison,
the sweetened caffeine-rich acid
to burn my kidneys and gut,
and i drank the whole liter: alone, oblivious.

this is the era that i live in,
this is the era of desperation,
this is the age of indifference.
welcome, child,
this is what you will inherit from us.


there is your smile,
plastered like a stain
upon the sky.

to see it,
all i need do
is just look up.

but looking up
hurts more than many wounds.

and so by choice,
i go about each day
looking at pavements,
avoiding puddles,
bearing this unbearable…

because you are now happy,
and i should be
letting you go.


the smoke still stings
and brings tears
to reddened eyes,
it catches in the throat,
and elicits protesting hacks
from overworked lungs…
the heat clings
the sweat and grime,
commingled, they plaster whatever remnants
of clothes upon your back,
and all around you,
this rain of ash,
this rain of unsnow,
uncold and unwelcome,
dissolving at the touch of fingers,
of tears,
is all that remains
of what once was
a pristine offering
of love.