I must admit, I do suspect,
the narrator has nothing left.
No winning blow to slay the beast, no end of madness to say the least.

No more words
that please and set the tone
of narratives we’ve set in stone.
I’ll no longer follow nor will I lead some counter narrative to true history.

Timing is everything when you aren’t certainly prepared to strike down your own advances in the face of extreme fun! Because fun (on the other hand) can’t and will not strike fun at the advances (that is your own product). Only to have (“timing is everything”) shrivel up and die! Except that doesn’t make any sense to have one or the other act as a simple countermeasure conjoin up with an interconnecting way of making things (all the better). But it’s already been like that too begin with! Someone once said as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. An echo that doesn’t have any priority to offer itself, except for the many occasions of seemingly never-ending “reverberations” that rebound off an endless process meant to coincide with something more important then itself. (“Itself”) … As in a very lonesome echo that keeps “broadcasting” every chance it could get its own “echo processing” hands on! That is if it’s not already of the “correct sorts” to measure such a claim. (Since a something can’t be seemingly claimed if not for a desire not having its own identity to bear!) For it simply trying to claim something (only to get it right the first time) is only but a fashionable illusion made to show that once something only seemingly happened once… It actually had been going on for an “infinite” amount of time without any specifications for how long it could have lasted? Or how long it’s very “reverberating transmissions” (and the effects surrounding it) would essentially last for? There was never an essential answer to this very question. Since questions aren’t in the correct sorts either, when trying to come to terms with an answer that demanded essential “answers” (right off the bat) in order to carry on forward. True…true…true…. The (someone) again once said, as if by the simple means of a very lonesome echo. How many was that…? And how many times did it resort to acting out in the best interests of something other then itself? The narration of this very passage “ticks” momentarily, as if to really “access” any of what this lonesome echo broadcasting mindlessly was “babbling” about?! When the narration did eventually come to terms about what its own “accessing” safely filtered out in the open for (all to see…not just in itself), it was confused (more then EVER)! What information it simply found out, was about how the lonesome echo repeatedly broadcasted something too many times that of course (it was not seemingly aware of…at first). Because even if it was, it certainly wasn’t caring of the repercussions bending the very instances that are (all the sudden) too alert to take…certainly lightly. Just as the narration of this very passage once took this all to heart (once upon a time ago). (If only for just a single moment). Not long after when it revealed that these very reverberating transmissions were in fact bending the very behavior of this once lonesome echo. And as if the narration hadn’t already been ticking it’s very “accessing protocols” together, revealing also another profound secret piece of information. Is that this all took place long in the past. Showing these very reverberating transmissions were the result of an overly prolonged exposure to something finally catching up too itself. Can you essentially guess what that very (something) was who finally was catching up too itself…? If you did, great! But remember this, as it’s VERY important (so to speak) …. Cast logic completely aside for only just another overly prolonged (“exposure” of a moment) having possibly been the size of another “infinite” lonesome echo broadcasting wildly! (Not to mention fusing its mindless behavior together as one!) You’d (all the sudden) get a random “alerting call” from that very someone who was essentially reaching out with tons and tons of echo’s in order to (not just make a “too long of a point”) when they essentially were only doing it for fun. Except for the fact the lonesome echo was essentially losing itself one reverberating transmission at a time. Strongly revealing another piece of the puzzle…. That it wasn’t just losing itself throughout its own “reaching out” protocol. But simply trying to keep up with its own alerting call it kept casting judgement on in order to simulate some “twisting fate” together. A twisting fate that it initiated together (in it’s reaching out protocol) as “timing is everything”!

Let me tell you about him
He is so temptingly gorgeous
I linger to stay in his arms

Let me sing about his voice
A chorus about the way he’s laughter brights the whole room

I can even write a poem about his scorching brown eyes
An own verse  for that smile that can melt the moon and bring the sun to his feet

We can talk about the dreamy boy that might be a illusion
You can only touch for a moment cause it will disappear
Something you taste once and then never again
A pleasure of heaven life gives you for a instant

If it wasn’t for my letters he will fade in time
But it will be a sin not to give the privilege of eternity to such a pretty soul

सुनाताहु मे अब, एक घरकी कहानी —२
जिन्दगीने किया, कैसे छेड्खानी

हस्ता, चेहरा हे उसका, दिलमे दर्द हे पुरानी
लगाहे आग मनमे, कोइतो पिलाव थोडा पानी
प्यार देकर बढ्ता हे , कभी कम नही होता
दर्द सुनाकर दिल रोता हे, आसुव का दासता —२

सुनाताहु मे अब, एक घरकी कहानी
जिन्दगीने किया, कैसे छेड्खानी

ऋतु आएँ, अाँख आगे, नआया, उसके अपने
नइ पत्ते, लगा पेढँपे, नआया, उसमे मौसमे
खुशी कोइ रंगमे नही आता हरघडी सामने
बन्द किए पल्कँे, उघरते नही सुनके बात, प्यारके —२

सुनाताहु मे अब एक घरकी कहानी
जिन्दगीने किया कैसे छेड्खानी

Category 2,
not too bad...
Swirling, whirling
Pounding, hounding
Rolling, Spinning
But
Manageable

Category 3...
Freight train,
coming from every direction
Major, but nothing new

Just an hour
Hold on,
We'll pull through

Pressure suddenly
DROPPING
Ears constantly
POPPING

Category 4,
...
Too late
My father's sharp
Breath

Pieces of homes
ripped off like flakes of skin
Leaving the ground barren
Only the bear bones
possibly remaining
Till they too,
are forcefully wrenched
apart,

A majestic structure,
now reduced
simply,
to *******

Mother nature
hurling trees
in her
wrath

All-
...
Gone,
in
a
matter
...
of seconds

The roar
mirroring the one,
in my head-telling me to
get
Get OUT
NOW

The world...
a symphony
of rage, ferocity, passion
Violent reds,
splotches of
orange and fuchsia
That,
I unfortunately,
seem
trapped within
As the clashes and roars
Waves and cutting wind
Swirl around me, I wonder,
is this,
what an insect feels like,
stuck in a washing machine?

Come to bed,
my father calls
I go,
reluctantly,
to the pillows and covers
that should be warm and soft,
but to my touch,
appear frigid
stiff

My eyeballs
practically popping
until at
some unknown time,
they shut
and I
SINK
Sink
sink

...

...

Sunlight streams in,
A dream?
Perhaps...
Possibly...
Maybe...
Oh, if only...

Unable to contain the hope,
I leap up to my window-      And freeze

Debris-
not trees,
not homes,
not anything
Just a mass of objects rendered useless and stamped with the label of
-DEBRIS
...
My father says,
No more running water

My neighbor's little blue
shed,
...
in shambles

Yet,
as I step outside
After what seems,
like a long arduous battle
I was an unlucky
Bystander
caught in the middle
of

Yet,
Despite the
churning feeling
in my stomach          The broken battered *******,
the ruined property       The, miserableness
Of the situation

But then again...
As my father,
fervently
prays
praises
Thanks the Lord
...
My mind,
is blown away
As I stand,
In awe
as my eyes take in the majesty
of those few,
solitary,
hundred year old houses
...
still standing