Dear memory,
You have been playing games with me lately.
And I have let you.
You have been eluding my mind.
You have been toying with my heart.
You have been hiding in my intestine.
You have been refusing to let my neurones alone.
And I have let you.
I have been more tolerant lately.
You have been digging with a spade,
Collecting in a wheelbarrow,
And carrying pieces of yourself around.
You have even sneaked in a mallet to smoothen some bumps.
Finally, last night when I caught you with the spanner;
I decided.
I have been more tolerant lately.
But now no more.
You have taken me for granted.
You have used my patience.
You have betrayed my trust.
You are precious to me.
I hold ever inch of you in reverence.
Both the good and the bad.
The real and the imaginary.
The happy and the sad.
The reflection of me and not so me.
But now no more.
Blinded by love, I won't.
I should not have encouraged alterations.
I should not have always let you.
You seem to be targeting a revolution.
You seem to be shifting your identity.
You seem to be looking for a piece,
Which just fits the missing link.
I should have warned you.
Blinded by love, I won't.
The time has arrived.
To shift everything in search is not the answer.
Even if found,
The object will then be futile.
There would be nothing the object knows.
There would be nothing you have grown to know.
The object will be lost
As will be you.
Let it lay in peace.
And one day,
It will by itself rise.
Sleep softly after all your toils.
To finally rest,
The time has arrived.

Stay Alive

Today is not about Yesterday
And Yesterday not about Today.
Every Today spent in the Tomorrow,
The preparation of a better Today.
The Today which is not upon me
The Yesterday I chose to forget;
The Tomorrow I promise to build
by covering-up my Today.
The Today I had promised to build
by denying my Yesterday.
The Today which I had seen,
When my Today was still Tomorrow.
The Today which I will see
When my Today is long Yesterday.
Everyday is my Today
My Today is a bit of Everyday
I live through Everyday
as I forget to live my Today.
If I have lived Everyday,
does it mean I have lived Today.
But if I have lived Today
I know I have lived Everyday.
To live is not just about Everyday
To live is yet to be simply about Today.

The Dance of Destruction

To be able to destroy is to acknowledge fear
To welcome anger
To inhibit sanity
To promote impulse.
To be able to destroy is to
be an artist
To be more powerful than the creator
To let go off your true self.
To allow others to fear you
To forgo the possibility of love
To transcend all material
For what is destroyed had no meaning
The true poetry lies in the act of destruction.
The destruction of an entity
Of an individual, a group, a community
Even an idea
Through the complex act of choreography
And the simple act of letting go
The construct of existence chaining the feet.
Breaking the shackles into the unseen
Leaving behind the crushed leaf
The soaked piece of paper
And also the mangled twig.
Promising every destruction the truth of life
Refusing to partake in death
Yet forgoing life after the dance has been staged.

"The animal in me" he said.
Before he could finish the sentence
"The animal" I wondered
How could I be one?
Haven't I spent enough
Time and energy on pretending
To be human?
For the life of me
I could not find the animal I was.
No I wasn't a horse, a rabbit, a cow or a mouse
My friend was an elephant, another a lion
And one even a whale.
I wasn't a hen, a crow or even an ant
I wasn't a hippo for sure.
I could be an eagle, a zebra, a platypus
Or even for that matter a pangolin.
I could be a hedgehog or maybe a goat.
But I think I was certainly not a bear.
Whatever I could be, I didn't know
Whatever I wanted to be was more difficult to tell
All that I could think for sure
I was something found not so readily;
And myself I sure wanted to be.

To leave the world where it is
To know that it was a choice
To let it not be for what it isn't
To feel no guilt for knowing right.

Fears

The fear of clearing things out in my head
The fear of understanding my fear
The fear of categorically writing where I stand
The fear of defining what it all has been
The fear of counting every similar situation
The fear of being unable to pick up for someone I care
The fear of not being the me I hoped to be
The fear of reading about something I don't want to see
The fear of hope and the feeling of nice
The fear of forgetting the feeling of nice
The fear of sometimes daring to feel
The fear of turning into an embryo again
The fear of hiding behind a tree
The fear of being hit on the back
The fear of breaking trust
The fear of the possible truths
The fear of probability
The fear of polarity
The fear of living inside
The fear of a popping vein
The fear of going insane
The fear of writing my mind
The fear of hiding inside
The fear of knowing
The fear of sharing
The fear of caring
And the fear of being.

Of Love and Lost Love

She loved, but constantly told herself 

how it was a bad idea.
But it wasn't an idea was it?
It was a feeling of being in pursuit

The pursuit of the only place where 

thought and life coexisted.

The pursuit of having to leave behind

A trail of love and lost love.

Both walking parallel as they followed her

They were not the best of friends

But with so much in common;

As they walked behind her

They couldn't help but strike a conversation.

A conversation about finding and losing

Of loan and of the debt never paid

Of living and yet not existing

Of trials and sufferings

Both had that in common; didn't they?

It was at dusk, when lit by the fading light

They saw she was now approaching an edge

The edge of the flat world she had walked,

Wanting to circumnavigate.

She was sure she would be back at the start.

But they watched her walk towards the edge

The edge of vast nothingness

Separated from all that had ever existed.

She seemed all but sad with this encounter.

The unexpected called out to her

As she gazed at the faded line between the two worlds,

She arched her back

And gracefully took a leap.

Almost in a swift diving motion 

She entered the beautiful vast acean.

A deep black ocean of nothingness.

The nothingness with the hope of something.

And the two followed her with loyality.