when I walk in the mountains
I feel really small
not the kind of small that destroys you
like an avalanche destroys trees
or makes you want to disappear
or be dispersed by a breeze
I feel like the earth's little child
like a sibling of the bees -
the delectable nectar of existence
always within reach
I feel like a little stream
leaping down rocks with ease
I feel a little too good
treading the landscape of peace

I wish there was an eighth day every week,
crammed in between any of the real two,
that I could slip in and out of
If I wanted to.

I wish there was an eighth day every week,
when the world halted completely,
So that I wasn’t compelled to be anybody
except for Me.

I am a stargazer. A dreamer.
I want my pupils to be blackholes;
I want them to **** all the light from the burning stars
and equalise them with the darkness.
Because when I look at them,
their magical light and deceiving beauty
lures me. Pulls me.
And I get scared that I will burn if I dream...
burn if I try to reach for the stars.

All I ever wanted to be,
was a Mender of Cracked Hearts.
But maybe I didn’t have the skills,
the touch, the strategy.
Or maybe a spirit possessed me.
And now strewn all across my inescapable path,
are painful, tormenting, glistening shards.
I can either tread the painful path
or be a Carpenter of Broken Hearts.

He threw a pebble in my emocean.
It silently sank to the bottom.
He was dry. He caused no commotion.

Struggling,
he threw a boulder in my emocean.
A small splash. It sank.
He got a little wet - tears rolled down
in slow motion.

Every muscle burning,
he pushed a mountain into my emocean.
A big splash. Inevitably, it sank.
He was drenched. He caused a lot of commotion.

Mustering all his will,
He shook my crust, my foundation.
A giant wave, as tall as the sky, rose
and swallowed him. He drowned
in my emocean.

I was carried by an invisible force,
aboard the train of wanderlust.
No one told me to get down, to get off
because the only inhabitants of the station
were blankets of mental dust.

The train bore me far away,
to realms that were in their making.
Realms of wonder and splendour
and realms of utter confusion
that were slowly disintergrating.

It travelled along an endless track
that kept vanishing from behind.
The fear of getting lost didn’t leave me,
the shadow of loss swallowed me.
Would I ever be able to get back?

I looked out the window
and saw the worlds coalesce and separate.
Where these lands a remnant of the past,
a figment of the future or an invasion
of the present in a form I didn’t know.

If my consciousness was being sought
by anyone who wasn’t lost,
they would find it, sitting and moving,
struggling  and jumping and travelling
in the train of thought.