LIFE WALKS STILL DEAD

1
I walk
I walk groundless
I walk
I walk maples
I walk feetless
I walk
I walk

2
Tore up my face
to show them
my nerves
yet they think nerves
are really iron pipes
dented thronging static.
I stay
on one Island
I live on another Island
I thrive on a third island
we three never met
I found you, a mirror image of mine
then my nerves throbbed
you walked away
in hope of letting
my nerves stretch out
to wound you
There I lost you.
3
A bit away from love,
a bit away from laughter,
a bit away from smiles,
a bit away from nerves,
a bit away I live a still life.

4
I hear them laugh,
but I can't listen their cause.
I see them smile,
but I can't see their reason.
Do they live?
Or am I dead?

5
I crept through life once,
my skin scraping the earth and humans.
Something went blunt, within or out there.
Now I walk through life,
my skin sees,
it lost its touch.
Now it just sees.
Its oval eyes don’t seem to seep into anything,
or is it them who refuse to seep in me?
I march through life,
Echoes of my footsteps dance in my year,
is it me who has abandoned them
or have they pushed me out of the life?

6
Mindscapes erased.
I live blindly,
trying hard
to erase
other mindscapes
around,
to create mine.

7
I dodge thoughts
around the spikes,
they have grown inside my head.
I throw a glance at those spikes,
constructing spaces
around them,
to let thoughts flow,
un-tattered.

8
I put life aside
looking for zest,
life walks by me,
each day,
shoving me out
aside,
still,
dead.

9
Hands and brains
invaded
my body mind statue.
They tempered with those two,
tempered those two,
turning them
into mockeries.
I stand aloof,
loathing those two,
the altered mind and that body.
I calmly watch,
eyes, once acquainted with that mind,
now mocking the tempered brain.
I stare at them in silence in calm.

10
Hands gestured a life,
I tried to catch it,
Each time
my skin my palm
clutched my nails within them,
I thought it was the life that stabbed my palm.
Once I found there was no life,
once I found it to be a figment of imagination,
of whom? I couldn’t tell,
the pain was too sharp,
pain of disappointment?
No,
it was just the pain
of my nails
trying to catch
a figment of cleverly created
shadow of her,
of life
that never existed,
or which existed only in those
hand-gestures.

11
The balls,
thrown in the air,
they hated the act of juggling in air
that those hands made them perform.
Then one day something happened,
those hands got crushed,
the balls grew spikes.
Now the air,
will it welcome the spiked balls?
Or will it shun those little spiked balls,
sliding into one of its smooth corners?

12
There was a lady with a ringing laughter,
she believed in something called god.
They thought I and god did not look eye to eye,
so they declared her untouchable,
if I touched her I would turn untouchable myself,
they declared.
Then a day she left.
I did not see her only heard of her,
was she untouchable because of her god
or was she turned untouchable
by those shallow minds who thought
her god scared me?

13
I should write about them,
I’m told.
I looked for them,
here and there,
I couldn’t find them.
I looked everywhere,
I felt an eerie feeling within me.
I looked inside me,
I saw them,
creeping, loathing inside me
with their week minds,
creeping in my body like parasites,
surviving on me.

14
A story of a blank paper,
that blank paper wished to write.
It asked a pen and its ink to write its story.
The pen and it’s ink took charge,
the ink was blue in colour and the pen had a fine nip
They wrote a lovely story.
The ink was everywhere on the paper,
It created a story of a lovely paper.
People read the story,
They admired the fine writing
They admired the blue ink.
The paper silenced behind the
blue ink, the fine writing
and the story these two created.

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