Monday, 17 October 2011


One day I ceased writing.
The mere act of lifting a pen
Felt like treason.
I was tired.

I feel tired many times.
And only recently
Have I started to wonder…
Is it exhaustion or is it myself?

I’m starting to realize
That maybe I’m tired of my mask.
That the myriad of intricacies
Which perfect one’s personality
Could be tiring me.

I can no longer find myself,
Nor find joy in the things
Which made me happy.
Nothing tastes like Nostalgia.

But she is elusive,
And I can no longer find her
In the torn pages of an old book,
Or in the simple wonder of my garden.

And as I lose myself,
Even deeper in the shadows
Of a mind which rarely gave me
Reasons for a smile
I feel I’m drowning.

All the plans are gone,
All the truths are wrong.
I have lived misled,
Trying to climb a staircase to Nowhere.

Monday, 14 February 2011

The Twelve and the Daily Coward

Dearest Readers,

I return after a long while, after a gap of silence. It was not really intended, it just happened so… Last year’s end, the bacchanalia of the holidays, travelling and working had me immersed in the realities of modern daily life. My muse took a holiday as well I believe.

Oh well, here I am, doing my usual scribbling, pondering and philosophizing, enjoying a classic cup of tea with milk, sans sugar.

Lady Astor


Are “The Twelve” archetypes
Of the olden Gods
The blueprint for the human souls?
Are we bound to make the same mistakes,
Over and over again,
Until we correct ourselves?
Are we biological sentient entities,
Programmed and thought up by others,
To accomplish a goal in a scheme
We cannot truly comprehend?

These are the questions I asked myself
When pondering of “The Twelve”,
Yesterday alone at lunchtime,
As I watched eager families
Enjoying their Sunday stroll.

Alone in my beliefs,
I try to understand existence,
This intricate puzzle we call life.
I have seen few moments of pure happiness,
Although I cannot say
I have not been fortunate at times.
I have lived though many guises,
Laid my bones in many places,
Known futility in my hunger to learn.
To know the nature of the soul.

I have only but failed
In my obsession
To grasp the unattainable.
The door opens for a second,
Then it’s slammed right in my face.

I have no love for routine,
Care nothing of waking up
At the same time
Every single day…
Guilt and duty make sure I comply.
And I wonder who and why,
Decided this should be life.
Strangled by obligations
Unable to be free at last,
Dependent on time…

Why do we continue
To play the part
In this crazy play
Where there is no gain
Other than coin?
Why do I keep on acting
Like a coward without fulfilment
Letting the days go by,
Giving away my life
And feeling sorry for myself
If the fire of Creation
Is supposedly in my soul?
Or are we created slaves
For the benefit of few
And that is the real ruse?

I think myself,
I think around myself,
I contemplate.
And see no perfection,
But cowardice…


Prometheus and his brother Atlas.
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