The connotation—the impulse.
The urge, and the strike.
A candle, a lighter—
the flame that ignites.

Sitting on the floor, in my room that night;
pen on paper, those words in my head.
Then the flame burned the papers—a fire so red.

What we humans are

is nothing, what we desire --


is all that matters.

And how does one ask for help? Or plead and not feel
Pity, shame? And does one ever grunt and say what one needs to say?
At some point in the yarn of the time, how does one
Look over one’s shoulder to reconcile,
How does one open a mouth to say
“I am lost. I think” But does one truly think,
Or act on the impulses.
Or calm oneself to ask. Ask!


And “When should I think?” I ask
“soon,” I say, “soon, on some wintery night,
When my windowpanes creak in the cold,
When my steel glass never gets warm,
I might think or ask, how does one not think?
and find a reason to reason with it;
The weary long journey, how it doesn’t end
And seems to start at every corner of the road”
“Perhaps, I shall shave my head
and wash my face with some fragrant soap
or trim my beard to look sharp and address it,
perhaps, soon!”

such a wild thing to think.
how these thoughts,
romanticize your voice.
it’s all that i can hear,
all that i want to hear—
as if everything ever derived
from these id-driven impulses,
is to ask for only your voice.
only your voice.

i hold a shaky palmful of death
noting that it is surprisingly light

i swallow reflexively
feeling shocks through my hand

i could just do it
i could just do it right now and it would all be over

why don't i do it

my body, fighting to survive
my brain, begging to die
and i am no man's land

Our systems show myopic woes
Foresight floats instilled in days
Who gains the most from short term aims
So easy to consume at pace
Routine breaks what hunger takes
Dilated weight from piled plates
To run on empty drives our kind
Spurred on by impulse
Mind caked in space

Clear your clutter on our way
Can shortcuts passed inhibit growth
Will we endure effective change
Sustain slower long term flows
To enter a fairer age
Filled with wisdom of younger days
Which ambitions reign supreme
When the state of fullness is temporary