another faceless existence

bad trip

playing with moments,
unknown notes of grief;
love awoken;
and questions underneath,

resurfaced.
like dust making its way,
surfing the wind,
finding solace,
in the puddle of apathy.

a shadow it is,
of varying length,
and ebony,
all upon light’s command.

still.

i had the zaniest dream.

i had a dream that i was watching a ramayana play. rama was this child that looked exactly like mogely. i don’t know if i got the spelling right, but mogely is the jungle book child. wierd. the mogely vandal with boobs on one of the econ desks really hunt me bad. there was also this hanuman, the monkey, and he has no nose. he got his nose cut off. wierd, he has the whole monkey costume and a bandage on his nose. and this mogely-rama was telling a story of his dream to the crowd with hanuman at the background. he said that his forefathers revealed to him the secret way and structure of organic compounds. his forefathers also revealed to him how to name the alkanes, aldehydes and the other compounds. his forefathers used the stars and made constellations to teach him how organic compounds work, and how he could use a good course on graph theory. then, bam! a computer appeared and mogely was programming in java. then i woke up. that was one good way to start a dull saturday.

what a fucking dream.

i am dreaming of winter
under the tropical heat.

i yearn more than hot,
or wet. i want something beyond.

i seek more than birth or death,
i search for the life in between.

i meditate on the seconds
that are squeezed in the middle

of start and end.

i dream of winter,
of falling ice, and eyes that fall.
of birds that freeze, and talking walls.

i dream of snow, i dream of chill,
i enjoy the melancholy and silent thrill,

of waiting.

waiting for the end, seeing another begin,
yet another disaster befalls,

unseen.