Teaching Yourself How To Fall Asleep

Have you ever felt that your life
all your life
every single minute that you spend waking sleeping
talking being

living is just a

race, trying to catch up with
itself, trying to make sense of the
secrets buried in the heavy air you

inhale, trying to decipher meanings in

ambiguous shapes of uncertainty and
sometimes when
you find it hard to teach yourself to

go back to sleep or your eyes

stare out of windows for what seems like
much to long, it is simply those
times where your life is struggling to

grab hold of itself and slow down for a

second before you watch it unravel and
disintegrate into fractions of
memories and starlight.

The Economy of the Printed Page

Fiction is almost always as fictional as we
wish for it to be, because the
sounds of prose
exist to blot out the
ink stains in our
minds, to fill in the
voids left by thoughts waiting to
happen, to mend
the ripped corners of our
souls.

Fiction is almost never entirely
fictional, because it encompasses the
illusions and
delusions of our lives in a
singular breath, spanning centuries and
revolutions and moments soaked in
hues of intensity and
underwhelming sadness, in finite
sentences governed by the economy of the
printed page.

The Sorrows of Alchemy

My father was an alchemist.

My father was an alchemist and I
Spent my childhood on the
Cornerstones of creation and
Combination, and I learnt that
The far can be as near as I
Want it to be.

My father was an alchemist and I
Spent my teenage years with a
Locket made of silver and
Platinum and half-formed
Dreams that were too impure to
Turn into diadems.

My father was an alchemist and I
Spent my adulthood looking for
The elixir of life and longevity, only to
Lose my mind in an endless pool of
Metal and tarnished regret.

The Lightness

(Part 3 of the Single Sentence Series)

When you leave your desk and bed unkempt and all your textbooks and receipts and post-its on the floor and walk out of your room and out of your house and through the gate to the sidewalk you will feel a lightness that cannot be described in similes or aphorisms or metaphors but simply a lightness that will take your thoughts and waft away with them through the cool evening breeze and as you walk around your house and the garden that you used to spend the sunny days of your childhood in you will look at the sky above the geometric abstractions of your existence and as the hues change from pale yellow to orange to dark crimson the people and houses and gardens around you will slowly illuminate in soft rhythms of consonance until the places and spaces around you will almost urge you to radiate in their presence but at this precise moment that you will check your watch and realise that you have errands to run and work to do and the lightness that inhabited you will sink under the boulders of your being.

The Unbecoming

Sometimes, although very rarely, the
Universe collapses into itself, in a
Strange, seemingly harmless combustion of
Air and nothingness, and the trees and
Flowers disappear into the spaces between
The grass, and the people, going about their
Daily routine, suddenly freeze in well-timed,
Spontaneous seconds of frenzy, and all the
Words and letters curve their backs and
Lean against themselves, until the gears of
The universe begin to move again, and soon, the
Trees and flowers appear from underneath the
Grass, and the people begin to walk home as if
Nothing had really changed, and all the
Words and letters stand upright, waiting to be
Smeared with ink and vulnerability.

Amiss

Let your eyes skim through these lines,
There’s nothing much here to say,
Drift off to foggy meadows and hills,
Let your mind glide away.

These words are nothing but symbols,
Let them bask in their own bliss
Leave them be and disappear,
Let your soul go amiss.

Let these syllables ring in your head,
But do not listen to their sound,
Compose your own rhythm
And the world will resound.

Eclipse

A quickening curiosity spread through
The sky, through slivers of silver
Raindrops, and suffusions of scarlet
Sunsets, and as I looked up, I saw
Fire and ice meet, and for an
Instance, just for an instance, the
World collided in strange dissonance,
In bright orange tumult and
Frosted grey storms of havoc, and
In that instance, just in that
Instance, the flames snatched my
Anger, the wind took my fury, and
Fierce shadows of wonder
Eclipsed my aching eyes.

How To Be Happy

One day, you’re standing in your kitchen and making coffee. You open the refrigerator and take out a bowl of fruit. In your mind, you make a mental list of the things you have to do today. Doctor’s appointments and errands and cleaning. You fit in a visit to the bookstore and a movie in there, to make yourself happy. In the distance, you can hear a song playing. Somehow, that song really speaks to you. Gradually, the doctor’s appointments and errands and visits all clear out of your mind, and all you can think of is that song. Where did you hear it last? Why does it mean so much? And suddenly, you’re back in 7th grade, your feet in the water, at your best friend’s pool party. You’re thinking of yesterday’s homework and today’s birthday cake.

Slowly, your feet dry up. The birthday cake gets over. Your coffee is ready, and your bowl of fruit is waiting for you on the kitchen counter. You get up, drink the coffee, and head out to the bookstore- to make yourself happy.

Be Vulnerable

Be vulnerable, sometimes. Imagine scenes in your mind and wait for them to happen. And when they do, be vulnerable. Let life happen to you, sometimes. Let swivels of emotion wreck you. Be vulnerable to the things people tell you, and be vulnerable to yourself. Say things you wish other people would say to you, and feel deeply about incidents that matter to you. Be vulnerable to words and waves and winks. Learn the way people punctuate their text messages, sometimes. Let yourself be immersed in the stark white pool of human consciousness. Swim in the hungry waves of intensity. Bask in the light of lovelorn smiles and soft whispers.

Be vulnerable, sometimes. 

Sleep

(I wrote this in math class-so clearly, the theme had to be sleep. Also the clouds looked pretty)

Clouds drift away when
No one’s looking, but if you
Stare at them closely enough
You can see them move, slowly
Gliding through the horizon, and
Making shapes in the sky, and
Before you know it, you drift
Away too, and you find yourself
Gliding through the spaces between
Thin air, and your mind gets
Entangled in dreams,
Nightmare, and
Pure white nothingness.