"cognisant" poems
Who is confident
Will be cognisant
Others may be right.
Who is arrogant
Will be adamant
They alone are right.
Therefore arrogance
Is just confidence
That's asserted; Right?
Or it may just be
Insecurity,
This need to be right.
To make others small
So one can feel tall
Is never alright!
Who gains this insight
Will have seen the light
And will do all right.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
friends of friends and an **** of mutuality
every one ripe for the ******* until we greedily
eat our own tails
I find myself running low on chemistry
with so little reaction left inside of me
the water around the plug hole no longer spins,
it only falls
architectural wounds
cannot heal beneath this razor’s murderous haste
while the cognisant weak and a capella apes deform
the silent comedy of a shared space
once straight tempers and scorpion kindness highball
an unhappy taste, leaving who to speak
for the ordinary host?
the functionaries’ short practice
infects the martyr’s hurried hair
between the principal route and the settling irons
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
The uncontrolled seasons of regurgitation
Kneeling to a devilish god
Sacred that shove
Utmost devotion to the abhorrent ritual
A cult of one
In the name my lord perfection : exquisitely emaciated
Romanticising arrhythmic heart beats
Glamourising protruding hip bones
Deeming them elegant
Poetising the lethargy
All the while being fully cognisant
Of simple truth
Perfection is six feet under
Lime coloured porcelain
Anxious ****** expression
The uncontrolled seasons of regurgitation
Will it ever end.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
When time ceases and your world falls apart,
When trepidation clouds your imminent future,
For when everything you ever held onto is lost,
and your thoughts shamble past your once glimmering eyes;
For when you stop moving your dexterous arms and just lay,
You feel pain surging through your veins,
Detriment taking over exuberance
fighting your self doubting mind off of deranged thoughts;
For once you feel the need to close your eyes
and fight off the impassiveness that blocks your sight,
For once you just wish this wound would heal,
For your toiled life to just ease into calmness,
To be ridden off the weight piled on your fragile shoulders;
Your mind seives through various ways
To feel the ubiquitous presence of ethereal light,
To curl up in it's peacefulness and inevitably give into it;
Tranquility takes the place of hurt
like an addictive shot of cannabis dissolving into your system;
You feel the penetrating urge to hold on to it
To reach out to your sliver of hope with your scrawny fingers
and grasp it tight,
Your hope of a world inoculated against the social stigma,
Rid of narcissus and his obnoxiousness;
Where for once in your troubled life you would not have to hide;
You feel your numb fingers closing over something sharp,
Possessed by an unquenchable thirst for freedom,
Wanting to insinuate yourself with the ethereal glimpse of hope;
Your breath lies between the blade of wishful virtuality and reality;
Reality, a now tormented word,
a word defining a world arisen out of
A never satisfying greed for power and erudition;
You fathom your cognisant mind to construe the moment,
To feel a sharp paroxysm of pain, a flush of wrong;
An ardor to redefine reality,
To concoct the mundane world scrupulous,
To write the wrong;
The heart now pumps blood of valiance,
Belligerence to cause insurrection,
A piquant taste to live builds up,
To fight for righteousness and to die of victory,
For it is in our nature to fight;
The blade falls into the pit of cowardice,
And reality has been chosen;
Chivalry triumphs over death
and the **** that time is begins to run rampant;
The crusade soaring in your mind now vanquished,
Your fragmented scorched life now meaningful;
For you have been reborn,
a master of time and chaste;
Reborn into a warrior,
one who has fought off the wards of death;
Whose prudence his armour,
Benevolence his weapon,
Candour his speech,
Dauntless his demeanour and
Intrepid his blood.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 10:00 AM UTC
Carefully each day
Fostering each other's hearts
As we commence routines and tasks
Familiar situations are nothing
Except feelings of assurance through cognisant repetition
Taking a coffee to the table, eating a cake or sandwich
But the simplest things lift us
Your mouth makes signs to me
Beckoning me to touch you
In a moment it's changed and we laugh
Your eyes sparkle and smiling I sigh
Raising me to the highest once more
Even a moving finger or the tilt of your head
Keeps it soulful and interesting
Distractions are few
As soon we sit as one
Joined at the hip exchanging body heat
Looking forward, feeding our souls
Crazy in love and so simply OK!
Not mundane to enjoy the nice little things
Gaining insight as our life entwines
Morphing into each other as we sleep
Do we care for others, yes
Our Pagan hearts are true and full
Revelling in each minute together
As humans should when love takes first place
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 3:54 AM UTC
It was my
favourite puzzle
And the best time of
The day
More of pretence
Or actual happiness
Was something
Which couldn't be figured
Lying to self
Caused harm
Truth was even bitter
I was trying to
Stay awake
And arrange those
Pieces
I felt a strong
Disinclination
And wanted to
Battle it out
I looked at the illustrations
And stood flabbergasted
Nothing made sense
I had to be
cognisant of
Those boundaries
And keep my self
Wrapped up
There was a piece
Lying by my side
Which wasn't a part of
The puzzle
It was just
An infatuation.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
I was young when I first met her -
a teenager, and getting a hang of it.
I'd like to think I smiled more, back then.
I don't recall much before her -
even the little I remember feels surreal.
I had just experienced the sweetness of a first love -
staying up all night speaking on the phone,
exchanging silly, cute love messages read on the internet.
It was adorable, I tell myself.
Teenage love often is.
Then I met her.
She was quiet, and timid.
We barely saw each other -
but she was always on my mind.
At first, she'd only visit in the evenings.
As we grew closer to each other, she was around more.
She would swoop me away from friends -
she was jealous, and wanted me only to herself.
I was not cognisant of how jealous her love was.
She hated it if I was smiling, or laughing without her.
She hated it when I went to visit places without her.
She would be mad at me, if I did anything without her,
and I would cry myself to sleep.
So, to love her best and to make her happy;
I stopped smiling, or laughing without her.
I stopped going to places without her.
And I cried to sleep, even if she was not mad at me.
When I met her, she never gave me her name.
But I asked, I had to know her name.
Her name is Depression,
and I wish I never met her.
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
a calyx in chaos.
a crack in chalky crown, crimson, cratered, clowns
cry crystal shards....
clothe me in crimpolene
in shades of clinical ivory
and cream.
come hither they cry
and carp, cavil,caterwaul.
come hither, come,
come, come.
cypher the cyan, from the cyanide
castigate, the casting,
of the conversational.
be cognisant, within the
cogs of the clock...
click-ticking..tick-clicking
in chorus, chant of canticle.
be the calm,
within the clemency.
and the core,
of the courageous.
concede not,
contemplate, with conscioncious, clear
the concepts of conotation
above all be
incomparable, capricious, canny and considerate
a conglomerate of cause, corpus and crux.....
both curious and a curiosity.
cause...
creation, cherishes
a clever n' curious, curiosity.
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
look into the morning mirror
slow shave and study dull eyes
looking back
a floor full of masks the passed ones may have dropped
he falls onto the ceiling, nose pressed onto the frieze
and she puts on heavy-shoes and has to hook him back downwards
it takes morning starch and bitter coffee to make ceiling dust shy
fashion is thrown out on its cracked sheen
as the carried mode entails only generic style and empirical fall
Let me sniff your armpit
Let me sniff it, please
I'm looking at you stand before my eyes
I see you right here.. before my very eyes
a pigeon on a windowsill
such a lovely unexpect!
it flies inside - harmony beheld
creates a stir
into a pane, stunned.. and life is expectorated
disposal wants to occur too fast and something
breaks inside him
system slave runs forward, grabs its soul
and hurries out slow
gray panels of cement amidst more gray panels
lodged between silvery towers and metal clink
olfactory-core comes nerve alive
( . . . )
he stands before the glass and looks upon her face
whose eyes may show no grief
clothed in vest and heavy foot
he unclips the last vestige
fully cognisant
and off he goes
to shock of passerby
he looks up to see the truest, bluest sky
and looks down to see the small figure
of her
receding.. receding.. receding ..
duty of kissing ceilingdust is in the past and
so is
living in slow-reverse
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
Tonight the lane
Will be flooded
With blood
And shadows
The ongoing rituals
And other paraphernalia
The squad will deny
But conquer
Every soul engaging in
Increasing the baggage
Of our cognisant minds
I'll try to ameliorate
The functionality
By passing on placards
With the truth imprinted
On every edge
While poets will continue to tell lies.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
This constant battle of tug-of-war with the universe has taught me to be cognisant,
Of how fragile I am between the few good moments,
Moments where I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be suffocated by these four walls,
The same four walls that have seen and heard every one of my downfalls.
Its funny how one word can pull the trigger to a lifetime of memories,
I’ve spent so much time isolating them but they come up just as easy,
The days I spent sitting on the cold, bathroom floor with slits on my wrist,
Never expecting to wake up the next morning or live through another night like this.
Each morning is a guessing game of which body part I hate the most;
Will my thighs, my arms or hairy legs be looked at and called “gross”?
The razor sitting in my top drawer rattles and calls out my name,
Will today be the day I carve out hateful messages and sit out in pain?
I try to block out the thoughts that are circling in my mind;
Pointing their daggers at my back and slowly killing me from the inside,
My heart feels heavy as I put on a smile and thank god that I’m alive,
We both know that i’m lying but at least I can convince myself, even if it's just for a while.
Jan 5, 2020
Jan 5, 2020 at 6:28 AM UTC
Knowing that I had but a short span
of time before
I would depart,
and cognisant of all that I had built
upon the trellis of my dreams.
I wondered how best to preserve
those unique sentiments
as my endowment to the world.
There seemed to be
no formula for one such as myself
to entertain the posthumous
yet valid sustentation of my life.
But then the gods,
or such as pass for them
in my philosophy,
took pity on this sinner
and vowed to store his yet
unsatisfied expressions
of Life’s truths
for all posterity.
They salted a rain cloud
with my spawning seed
that I might yet persist
in word and deed.
Then storms produced
a prophecy,
a bequest to my progeny
that when I am no more,
and worms have done their worst,
the nascent grains of my philosophy
shall still remain intact and undispersed.
And so these morbid lines
continue to enhance the pages
of this conduit;
to bore, excite, annoy, exasperate
and otherwise to plague their readership.
But have no fear:
take heart dear reader,
persist in honest faith
and reassurance that
the peregrinations of this verbal inning
is closer to its end
than its beginning.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
she is the sand that supports me.
I think constantly about what constancy can be and whether or how it affects me.
Family is the one certainty in a
faith that can be hit or miss.
This is the tidal reach and
she is the beach I rely on
the reason I go on
the rock that never moves.
The bridge between two cities.
We can fly across the chasms to the ends of acceleration.
In the instant of recognition
if self can be recognised
I am cognisant of my faults.
I'm not sure if perfection is attainable or winnable,
nor sure if I'm capable,
but
I'll cross that bridge
when I come to it.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
In the twilight of dreams
The hollow corridors echo
Louder than ever before
The walls are smeared
In nostalgia
Memories creep in
And congests weary minds
Somehow
We march onwards
Like intrepid lions
Cognisant of unkind truth
The way is long
And if we crumble now
We may never recover.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:57 AM UTC
In the heart of Kolkata lies the palatial palace of the redcoats
The centre of architecture served as the residence of the empress of India
The weapons of war, antique jewellery, charismatic gowns and magnificent paintings gleam with pride
The sharp eyes of the queen catch everything around her as she sits on her throne and is ready to accept the crown
Carved is the coast of arms and the last supper in the abode of the angels
Spacious corridors, stained glass windows, classic architecture, lush green gardens form this cognisant seraglio
The crows and Robbins are her messenger or maybe even the prima donna in disguise
And every morning the angel of the sun turns around and announces the beginning of a newfangled day
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:27 AM UTC