Anamorphosis

-
They say perspectives can be many 
What if the world is a playground 
For Anamorphosis in another
Where it all makes sense 
What if our bodies 
Are waves 
And 
Waves are 
Only a fragment 
Of a universe set straight 
Which doesn't appear as universe
Cosmos uncomplicated 
Abruptly, kindly 
What if you were to see
The shapes that scattered stars 
Slaved to arrange in constellations 
In a simple upturn of earth 
Postcards, trinkets and french plats
Worn gallantly 
By a mad man? 
You would perhaps 
Finally see your journeys converge
Concisely, wholly 
On a paradigm free of material 
Meaningless, until placed against 
The world 
Won't you come 
Set things a little awry 
To set the reflection pondering
About a fickle one's ambitions?
Oh won't you come 
Crawling 
So the feet in your image wonder
About a darers audacity.
Your impudence will dance 
But there, it will appear stationary. 
You can look at it any way you want 
They say perspectives can be many. 









Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Epiphany

-
I feel like I'm coming to accepting this. From drowning in my self created mazes, from people I tried to escape. I'm still rooted, where I am, and my past will be forever etched in my memory, times I've tried to not only escape people, but myself. I got lost almost voluntarily, almost as if in quest to find myself, on the streets, in shops of nowhere, below my own skies, which seemed so alien. The world that was jelly in my hands, slipping from my palms and I could do nothing about it. I got prone to killing myself, the instinct that still lives on in my being. Still there have been times I've been able to find reason, and I have figured that by reason and reason alone can I move forward and conquer. I see myself a little above the deep unknown, afloat on the water, I'm not moving, I'm not sinking. Complexities surround us, and we usually rub our eyes to misunderstand them. They become threats, and we always look for people to direct us. Sometime...
Read more

Soup

-
As I cut the onions, mashed the tomatoes Heated the oil, brought the water to boil Sautéed the garlic, Threw in the macaroni I realised, something else was cooking Because the soup wasn’t good-looking And the pasta was under.   But their clutter was the only dialogue That cleared the smoke.   The conflict that rose and settled Bandaged what was broke.   Nobody wanted it, the soup   It was cooked after dinner-time   In a rush, fifteen minutes to be precise   Everyone had it, to be nice   Alas, somebody had to digest   That whirlwind of a storm   Or it would lie hovering on my kitchen top Besides my mind.   And I would keep ruminating over it   Like I did the raw bell peppers   In a bid to make sense   Of our reel in rewind.  
Read more

Never one

-
To harbour an idea, (I won’t say dream for that seems needlessly embellished for this piece) for a good many days, months and even years, having gone through very distinct phases – of thinking it in the first place, of establishing it as one to pursue, of wanting to act upon it but not, of acting upon it and failing, to actually achieving it has served as an eye opener of the first order for me, and though I don’t completely comprehend its ramifications, here’s what I have understood so far.  For once in all my years, I set out to chase something that I believed (and believe) would ultimately become my profession. At last, to the relief of many and myself, I had a singular direction and the only visible trajectory was forwards in a linear motion. Though I am not one for jotting notes, it was all charted in my mind, organized according to serial number, colour and topic. I’d do the usual and achieve something mind-bogglingly grand. I’d escape the nest to find my calling and...
Read more