some of us

Some of us live life like we drive.
Eyes on the road ahead. Meeting
potholes we swerve to evade.as cars
chase neglected side view mirrors.And
we drown out their garish frustrations
with pink floyd.comfortably numb (but
for that speed bump we almost did expect!)

Some of us walk, like we live. Straight
into intricate cobwebs woven lovingly
across branches hung low, unsure of the
fragrances of the old woman's backyard,
certain only of the words we have read
as our unsynchronized feet tread on
trampled leaves of yesterday's bloom.

Some of us sit down to our third round
of dinner, way past midnight, tuned in
to a graduation speech about 'keeping the
hunger alive!' (Burp!) Did they mean this?
It would be refreshing.After all the platitudes
that make us reach for crusty old ice cream for
the uneasy oil floating along the food pipe.

Some of us go silent. And listen only to the
music of dead people who should have known
better. We wonder what it takes to walk into an
open manhole, drive past the railing off a freeway,
have a bowl of unnamed white pills for the next meal.
Hope could lie in an accident waiting to happen,
for some of us. Fear could be the only consolation,
for some of us.For some of us, it will never be okay.
and for some of us, that is quite okay.

slippery slopes

Sometimes stubbornness is merely
helplessness,struggling for meaning
in escape. Silence often gushes out
of eddying thoughts, and you remain
unsure whether the minty unease at the
base of your throat is acidity or words.

you go back to the music of a man
who hung himself on your best friend’s
birthday, and didn’t find you worthy of a
‘why’, after all this time (if indeed a linear
measure can fit).

                           sometimes,you wake up
to the noose. 

                         and the lingering scent of
insect repellent fills your nostrils reminding
you of the night before. when you played god
to a wasp that failed, or perhaps refused
to comprehend the purpose of a door.
Where is Disney when you need it? In their
romantic hands, this could have been a
heroically yellowed flight for self affirmation.
Definitely a musical. 

                               But as it turned out, the
inglorious end was mopped up under the
darkness of a monsoonal moon, even as
unsteady hands slipped into sanitized
narratives of sufficient guilt and numbness
on loan.perhaps that is how it all winds up.

And the sharp edges of borrowed pain will
take you through one.more.night. morning
will bring mother’s disapproval of kohl stained
pillow covers.that saw more than they reveal.