From Afar,
I observed,
through the mirror your beautiful,
porcelain skin had started to crack.

From Afar,
I worried,
you would have no reason,
after reason had turned her back.

From Afar,
I admired the way you poured gold,
in the places you lacked.

he touched her by mistake,
staggering, almost falling off her feet,
eyes soon enough met,
the light seemed like a piece of mirror
                thrown into them,
                                            shards,
a glassy glow,

    that shine you see sometimes in tears,
on her face as round as a rosy apple,
cheeks high to the sky, the lips careless

he could’ve reached out by accident
to catch her, perhaps, by the waist,
- ask from where she comes,
release her like a veil blown by the wind

THE SECRETION OF MEMORY

in an attic
( mottled with age)
mirror gazes upon mirror

a web attaches
( spun by a rather theatrical spider )
a primitive computer to a wall

a mouse scurries over
a dusty keyboard
the keys hungry for words

a tattered kite
stares at a sky
the clouds racing by

here is where
objects go to die
when the world abandons them

I too
an object abandoned
by my self

In this life you can meet someone
and then unmeet them in the process of time.
There will be days you will long for their presence,
and days where you wished you never met them at all.

In those paradoxes of life, I have found much meaning.
That life is meant to be lived and that it meant to hurt.
We are truly alive when we feel certain emotion, every emotion.
Every ups and every down reminds us of living the life.

That life is pretty and at the same time messed up,
That there is beauty in sadness,
and there is danger in too much happiness.

I want to love,
So I can prove that
I am not completely lost,
In the hurdles of time,
And that there is a heart,
If not for me,
I wish for it to beat for the existence of another,
So my being can find a purpose,
I am in a a state of constant desperation,
To learn and to be learnt,
By heart,
So that I am never forgotten,
So that I may linger without consequences.

Lucid is better, so better be lucid?
Discernible ‘yes’ from word-keeps on high
Merriam says it’s clear thinking between
--confusion (sounds bad), or insanity (worse)
Those on the edges can feel what I mean
Our grand word-keeps really must justify
       The mean in this meaning,
       out-bounded by boundary,
       lined-out by this outline,
       now liminal quandary

Lucid is better, so better be lucid?
Webster, my friend, have you deep-thought this through?
Sanction is clear from this definite frame
-- English agrees, but is that important?
English is not the sole tongue in the game
Here is a series of queries for you      
       Can you margin it all out?
       The hurt and the fallout?
       For people who crawl out
       adrift from your callout?
      
Not-lucid has rescued me more times than countable
And really not-lucid has caught me mid-fall
Through memory patches of pain insurmountable
Muddling dull was the best break of all
The cogent, coherent, and clean-comprehensible
Can open tight *****-capped emotional stores
Unprocessed experience, only defensible
By wool-wrapping windows, and baffling doors  

Lucid is better, so better be lucid?
Politely diverge from Merriam’s word
Webster’s position humanely disclaim
       --Gratitude-pour over fuzzy and haze
Cloud-foggy, mind-misty, heavy, mush-brain
Rational praised, but when needed, deferred
       Hail shields of deep feeling
       all lucid-real reeling
       rewinding revealing
       to heel allows healing

‘Lucid? Not always’ the kindly refrain
Outsiders rest on the inside again
And never confuse, confused and insane