Inconspicuous day

We gather in greatness (a meeting of many)

I sit with
Poets and painters and prophets alike

        casual and comfortable
                          surreal and social

We talk about
               methods and theories (fundamentals of frequencies)

And we talk about
               dreams and desires (delving in depth)

And we talk about
              the present and the future (conceptual credences)
                         And let us not forget the past...

We, the artists, united, bound together
                    By lucidity, like minds, creative
                                         I list, list, listen to voices

I hear conversations about
           life and living

I hear conversations about
           songs and singing

I hear conversations about
           painters painting

I hear conversations about
           love and loving

I form limericks in my mind, (mindless, whimsical)

And I am think, think, thinking

Thoughts and ideas gather and dissipate

I transliterate the ideas of others

I sense complexity thrilling, (thrilling complexities)

And then suddenly, its quiet...

When you stand still
in unbearable agony, the unquiet
dark starts settling
around me.

Why this crisscrossing of
ill-bred beliefs and credences?
Hacking of the circinate thoughts?
After the rolled up,
tip of pain lies in the center.

The dead leaves,
noises of the past-are gathering up
with ugly exhibits.

As origami, you fold it
and put it back
in ice box.There was no need
to decorate the death's crown.

Eyes half-shut
will not see the moon rise.

When you stand still
in unbearable agony, the unquiet
dark starts settling
around me.

Why this crisscrossing of
ill-bred beliefs and credences?
Hacking of the circinate thoughts?
After the rolled up,
tip of pain lies in the center.

The dead leaves,
noises of the past-are gathering up
with ugly exhibits.

As origami, you fold it
and put it back
in ice box.There was no need
to decorate the death's crown.

Eyes half-shut
will not see the moon rise.