I spent four hours on my knees
scrubbing bathroom tiles
working though anxiety
shining and polishing and ignoring the heat of my burning bridges
and scalding the tips of my toes with bleach

and finally after all my toil the second floor bathroom was clean -
the blues and greens and chromes and golds clear and shining.

It seemed to me, as I fell on the couch in brief respite,
the grime had soaked through my fingers and into my bloodstream
and no matter how hard I scrubbed I couldn't polish my insides.

Yet I rose, to scrub once more.

I sit in the dark lane,
a lane of thoughts,
that is called.

Peeping with noise,
i tell them to stay....
stay because i want to unfold myself.

The Self?
Errr..
What is my self?
That self which spills with confused thoughts?
Blinkered,
Blinded.
Or
The silent one,
which smiles deep inside?

I begin to walk,
an awakened walk...
in harmony with both the selves.
want to walk till the  shores of...
the supreme,
that supreme which is the infinite,
and that infinite is in little me!

He is the unreachable,
still i sometimes manage to reach.
But soon he evades,
impregnates me with those two.

And i sit again .
all exasperated in my lane,
a lane of thoughts that is called...

The fools have spoken of the
Blessing of insanity as they
Stand without- gazing in through
The impenetrable glass walls to
Where I lay
Naked
Cold
Alone
To have the blessing of ignorance
And that of prideful bliss
Fools, I hiss through my teeth
And they carry on with their
Long winded soliloquies
With their twisted verbage
A show of flair, a petty coat on
An empty bottle.