Still Brushing my Brain

The mystery thickens.
I forgot a very common word today.
I was known for my memory when I was a child.
Does that really mean anything?
Being horrible with dates has been my thing.
I am appalling at names;
Of people, not of things.
The plot has lasted there too long.
It buries more and more underneath the rubble.
There are people who are trying to be rescued.
Trying to stay alive on mere sweat and some flesh.
They will die soon.
The rubble needs to be cleared.
It needs to be lifted off,
It needs to be organised.
In a largest to smallest order maybe?
A required to not required list?
A list by frequency of use?
Or simply left to be crushed;
Forming one dense cube.
Easily stored,
somewhere at the bottom shelf.
Soon names would revive.
People would be able to rebuild.
A new structure maybe?
Unknown materials?
Which in due course,
May or may-not fall down again.
To bury inhabitants in new rubble.
Cropped out of the old storage.
Or a pile on from days to come.
Crisis would keep them afloat.
For activity to inactivity, is a state of bliss.
And building forth, a ray of hope.

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.