Sometimes a neon light night will do
Expectations loom large
Cheap profundity abound
And mirrors begin to lie
And the ears miss the ring of claps around
Masks on masks on masks
Ease of wit chameleon
And each makes obscures one beneath
Death with reprieve
When the music demands dance
And a scream is hard to find
A carnival of cheap thrills and sounds
Those neon lights will do.
I will not pretend to comprehend fully, for this will require many a moon to contemplate.
But yet again, Gurudev, you have reached out and touched this brow lovingly and imparted sagely wisdom.
And for all you have given with a free heart, I remain in your debt.
A meagre thank you is all this mendicant can muster, for garrulity shall not be my wont.
Its been a long 400 days since that last flight.
Amidst the spiraling death count and subterfuge of social distancing, an imposed isolation takes its toll.
The human muscle was atrophied.
But soaring high above the clouds, all worries were put to rest.
These shades and hues remind of an anachronistic permanence that 400 days cannot extinguish.
And so, when the plane soars, the gaze lifts, and reminds us of what we are.
Cogito Ergo Sum.
The recognition of self is followed inevitably by a realisation of self and self worth.
Denying this self worth - by ostracisation, by law, by conditioning - is often employed to garnish an emaciated entity with a facade of power.
This veneer of monstrosity defines itself insularly and etches away at itself slowly.
As sure as the flowing water will carve out canyons, this visage will depart.
And whence one emerges from this cavern into the full daylight of life, transcendence awaits. For as simple as a breath of fresh air, is the axiom that we are all equal, announces itself.
Under the inky dome, stars wedded to it
My creation takes shape and form
I brought you forth and lived through you
And you became my crutch, night after day
Injecting you into my dreams to sleep with a smile
So shackled this imagination, so pallid its complexion
It aborts any sense of renewal, of vulnerable redemption and meaning
So, burn down what you worship
and worship the immolation, for this fire sustains life
And prepare to toil, to sow, to sculpt.
For the rivers carry a new song, and the sky deem us wondrous
Only if they shelter creations anew.
Dedicated to Emma Ruth Rundle.
You were the most perfect car in most respects. It was a good ride - ruined only very slightly by your creators lack of quality.
Goodbye little donkey. You've been a good friend.
