The Evening blues

Lately,
words have been failing me.
Lately,
it doesn’t seem like there
was
or is
or will be
any point
in anything that
I have ever done
or would like to do.
Lately,
the world has been failing me.
And even when it wasn’t
I feel like it always was –
more lost than ever before
because even the dream’s
been temporary lived and gone.
And there isn’t a new one that could replace and stay.
And the old one doesn’t go away,
like a ghost haunting an old house
wanting something
and yet it’s just too late;
Echoes of a dying wish,
the life is gone brother!
And you don’t matter,
you don’t have any matter in the first place.
Lately,
I can’t speak.
Because I don’t really think I have anything to say.
I feel old in my youth
as if I have already lived way beyond I was supposed to.
Lately,
I have discovered a bit of joy
in being
at an utter unease with everything perfect
or could have been perfect.
Here I am with the evening breeze
romanticizing the distant chaos again.
Lately,
I have been feeling weak –
A familiar face,
hanging around with a dictionary definition
ensuring that any sort of hope doesn’t escape
and corrupts me all over again.
Caution:
Don’t fly.
Because you are not a bird.
Hues of the autumn
amber, orange, brown
like leaves you fall to the ground.
Dissolving,
take away this pen
take away my immortality
I don’t want to be remembered.
I don’t even know what I am.
So why should you?

A late night thought

Hope is that someday it would make sense
Or maybe we’d to learn to accept the senselessness
Hope is that someday we would find order in the chaos
Or maybe we’d learn to deal with the high entropy
What, when, why, how
There’s no ignoring
There’s no escaping
Things happen;
Painful ones, joyful ones,
People happen;
Interesting ones, awful ones,
Who’s wrong?
Who’s right?
We are, in the end, just lines oriented at a random angle –
Converging, intersecting, diverging,
Maybe we make sense from a plane above,
Maybe our experiences together are infinite hues splashed over a vast canvas,
Maybe, maybe there’s a reason
Maybe, maybe there’s an answer
Hope is that someday our beautiful mind would find beauty of his own;
Hope is that till then, he wouldn’t give up hope over fears unknown.

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