Like all other cities in the clouds
this one is often wet and always loud.

Its air heavy with the sweat of labour
and light with the soothing lunar caress.

Its bricks, the stuff of dreams,
raised by giants, manifested in concrete.

Its people the dreamers.
There shoulders drenched in hope

Walk with weeping umbrellas to the sky
in painful black soles...

...Past snow globe dreamlands
of nebular realms and rainbow twilights

Shielded in walls of nothingness thick
to keep the fantasies in and the phantoms out.

And she prances on the grey greasy pavement
blowing bubbles of soap that brave the rain.

Her chin - the sun.
Her breath - the monsoon winds.
Her curls - the streams in the woods.
Her forehead - the promised land to each raindrop.
And her soul - the bliss that lies in the space between worlds.

I sit here staring at this blank page,
Gathering my thoughts
Like drawing motionless water droplets together
On a glass pane until they flow as a single stream.
In the silence ensured by my noise cancelling headphones
I hear my heart manifest the thrill of a novel idea.
And I wonder why I avoid the word ‘heart’ in my poetry.
To me it is an ***** too base in its functions
To be declared the seat of emotions profound.
I may depose it from the seat of the feelings,
But not as an executor of their will.
For the effect is always more certain
Unless I want to lose myself in
The infinite regression to
The original
cause.

Sleep beckons.
I could close my eyes and call it a day.
Lie down and die – maybe dream
Of all that was unaccomplished.

But with dreams there comes no guarantee.
Compensation for dissatisfaction?
Rebuke for procrastination?
There might be none,
Or some that I might not even remember.

Life is meaningless.
We are but sparks: destined to fade away.
This isn't a game, there are no rules.
No prosecution for any infringement.

I choose to while away at a make believe game
With make believe rules.
But I play fair,
Lest I should be judged by me.

I granted myself the liberty
Imparting meaning to my existence.
Meticulously building a façade.
Filling the void that I was born into.

One reckless step and it might all collapse-
Life, rules, beliefs-
A heap of nothingness at square one.
This choice-
The liberator from the drudgery of existence-
Is the one that binds me.

So I force myself to stay awake
For a few more hours each night.
Trying to get the blocks in place.
Convincing myself that what lies ahead is all pleasure.

Will it be reward enough
For all that I have suffered and lost
At my own game?

(I)
Her hour upon the stage,
She struts and frets.
Applause, admiration
Behind a mask to reflect.

In moments of true emotion,
Behind closed doors,
The mask would slip off
And shatter on the floor.

(II)
As years went by
And her heart withered,
She’d rather keep the mask on.
Revealing her true-self she feared

So secure behind the guise
So full of her-assumed-self.
She diffused into the mask
And the mask into herself.

(III)
Two eyes in the crowd
Shone apart from the rest.
They were there for the she,
She had always neglect.

While the crowds cheered on,
In those eyes at her affixed,
For a few flickering seconds
Her true self she glimpsed.

By the mirror she stood.
Hand clasped to her face,
In futile agony,
This mask to efface.

(IV)
“A mask may be adamant.
It may cover the face whole
But it can never drape
Those windows to the soul.”

“It will be difficult to search
The true-self long concealed.
Let these drape-less windows
The path reveal.”

“Look deep in mine eyes,” said he.