Wednesday, April 27, 2011

….But What If?

The hunger of, often veils
Metaphors of imaginations trickle
A slow paced chaos
My heart beats as part of a drum circle
The dancing figures of unrest
Glide over in mysterious movements

A rather benevolent mind
Starts to play tricks of a circus joker
Somewhere there is a need
Of the soulless jester to lighten up
As I indulge in tantrums of thoughts
Through the my own hands
I nurture a new born idea into
A callous criminal, guiltless
With an appetite of a beast
That feeds over my consciousness
As I too feed off the angst; “thinking”
To sustain the cob wed
I build to be real

The hunger of, often veils
For every thought must be alive
Alive enough to affect
Alive as I make them
It is my own indulgence in the
Captivation show of misplaced reality
That shadows of relentless assumptions
Are strong as the scorching sun
It is I who gives them power
It is I who veils my own

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