Deafened with decibels from all frequencies, seemingly all at once, they hit me.  I sit, wishing, wanting, waiting for something.

Sunk heavy in the knowledge: I have been here before.

I am no longer a visitor here, novelty has been exhausted. I have been everywhere, many times before, besotted. Space-less and time-less, uncharted memories lurk beyond my territories, unfathomable and inert, they, my unspeakable stories.

Instead, I sit here, lotus poised, pushing my toy train on the looped tracks of infinity. It’s really just an 8. Or perhaps I’ve misunderstood eternity. I have seen you before. You’re really just a shadow. Or perhaps I’ve misunderstood proximity.

And now you come to me once again, I try hard to derail my train, but you won’t let me. My hand chained, my eyes strained, I traverse blindly on my own continuity.

The sheets curled, unfurled, danced around her *******
As he turned, he burned, looked away from the tests
She took when they lay in bed – so quietly

She forced her toe through a tear in the sheets
The threads they popped in delight and defeat
And she smiled for the first time that night – so quietly

Her wide-eyes strained to see the stars
They dried and on the pillow they left their marks
And later, he’d turn around and mistake them for tears
As he’d done for all these years

But for now, he lay, like a fetus in a furnace
With thoughts of his failure and her subtle victories
She’d put her hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear
That, it’s quite alright my dear, it’s quite alright – so quietly

She who is the agent of chaos
Knows not why she does dance
Shyly she poised on her tiptoes, bare
When I saw her just by chance

She, my Shiva dances atop the highest of the Himalayas
Humming and hoping I watch alone from below
And I wonder - how does the dust feel betwixt her toes?
How does this earth resist from swallowing her whole?

*****, a compass, she traces to encompass
A circumference within which she does reside
There, she spins, twirls, pirouettes a vortex
And the dust obscures her from my salacious sight

But I can still hear her

Blinded by the grit and deafened by the gale
I hopelessly follow the sounds of her anklet bells
But to scale these peaks with my bare hands, I slip, I fail
And fall forever into her infinite fractal spells

A feather, I drift towards her fictional siren calls
Travelling through echoes of silence and spectre
She punctuates her poses in the shape of question marks
Interrogating me, when she knows I cannot help but surrender

Who are you I ask, my agent of chaos?
Mute and vengeful she turns to strike like a cobra
With one blow she breaks her own spell
And refracts her remnants from fractal to mirror

She who is the agent of chaos
Danced a waltz upon my throat
Speechless and breathless I was rendered lame
But he knew it’s really all the same

Huddling and cuddling I held you so lightly
Do you remember those cold nights my child?
You were mumbling and drooling, and cooed ever so slightly
When I pointed at the moon, you looked up and smiled

“Mooooon!” I said to you, to which you replied,
“Mooo!”
And then I laughed a little - and maybe - I cried
We’d shared an experience so unfathomable in consequence
And by naming it, to you I had lied

Will you forgive me my child, for that cosmic crime?
The moment when I stole that which shone in your eyes
When you echoed my mistakes reverberating in time
But ignorant, I wrapped you, so snugly in those dark skies

Do you remember those cold nights my child?

In this cold night, the moon has lit up full again
Only tonight, our bodies share not this blanket of lights
Disillusioned with disillusions we have become since then
But still I wish to unwrap you from the words I write

My child, I ask you, look up once more,
But let not facticity blindfold your sight
Feel that which language bids you withhold
And play I pray with the rabbit that lives in the sky

I fell in love with a ghost
Upon whose grave I have committed great travesties
She was silent and seemed lost
And my feeble heart could not sustain her futile tragedies

The tragedies of millennia past, gasping in in-articulation
The suffocation of a future already always lost, without observation

I fell in love with loving a ghost
Who saw past my eyes into a formless ocean
Limitlessly there, she sunk and she rose
But alas was not of my wanting nor creation

She who is of minimal infinity
Taught me nought about nothing, nobody
I only recognize that it was her that never wants me
And I who longs achingly to be in her vicinity