for every fragile memory
time is wasted
and i am foolish enough
to let it happen
because i am convinced
that we had a moment
in between sarcasm
you let me see through
though you did not
and then you left me
craving for more
ache for attention
i was not entitled to*
I closed my eyes
And tried to wake up
In a world that’s too far away
That struck from above.
Taunting me with honed voices,
Not a single was distinct.
How cruel were those noises!
With every possible hint
In an alienating stint
followed by the clue
It came as on cue
And I heard that song
Of stories not heard for long.
Then I stumbled upon the truth,
‘We all go places that we may never belong.’
I want you to be the exception to the rule.
To be the silent c sitting in the scene of my life, having your implicit presence as a reminder of how utterly incomplete I’d be without you.
your subtle reassurance
make me smile
simple words on the back of a postcard
'dive me' - to dwell into my subconscious
into innate implicit meanings;
I am an artist
lost in the dark
painting my perception
on my window
of the world
Implicit splendour in the colour of the day
and moonlight reflecting just gently
corals and shadows flitting abound
dyeing the darkest shades of blue
and clouds of cotton spraying through the light
sweeping the horizons of eternity
love in the eyes of the sun in sight
our tossed whispers lining the days––––––
In a world
where One being explicit is bad,
should, rather, be implicit
so people can impart their own meaning
and offend themselves,
'cause they seem to fucking keen
to get offended either way.
Really, people don't want to admit it exists
Always implicit and unspoken—too horrible for words
People —won’t acknowledge it unless it slaps them in the face
—can't deny the fact that
Everyone flinches at the very word itself
"It is a postulate implicit in all metaphysical poetry that nothing is ineffable, that the most rarefied feeling can be exact and exactly expressed. If you cease to be able to express feelings, you cease to be able to have them, and sensibility is replaced by sentiment, in the end by the vague expression of the vague, and poetry degenerates into a diversity of noises."