In the smallest and closest form I lay
In a consuming pursuit
From purple of dawn to orange daze of dusk
The nape bent inwards along the spine
In a bizarre jigsaw I find myself enclosed
For in the melee of voices
The mind is in a state of a quiet tumult
Its rhythm and roar lulling the mind
This resigned self-exclusion feels like the only home

An emotional coup d’etat;
Unfolding inner conflicts
Experiencing paradoxes
Reconciling opposites
Blandest phrases turned to sentiment.
Smothering emotional density in various shades of intensity

The sacred’s haunting of the the profane
Or the other way round
Trapped inside a mental ghetto
I am robbed of my poetry
A negative and deprecatory light is the
Only thing that enters from the crack
Floating in the formless form,
I circle the bazaars and roam the streets
Through drunken dens and muttering fleets
Sands of fleeting life, passing shows that fade
And a melange of other landscapes created inside the mindscape
I am catching my thoughts before they could go deep

Coming back into the womb
To heal a wound or two
And embrace the eclipse of eyes
Tricking the raging and roaring into softness
Diagnosing and curing without knowing the disease
Trying to listen to the;
Syllable that permeates all things.