Under the full moon after a twilight evening I light this flammable paper I rolled as I hark back to our faded moment in the back of the cab that night...

I lay shirtless on your marshmallow soft like thighs while you caressed my back with a rather fade a way shy but intentional touch which sent sensual chills down my spine
We were both drunk, me more than you trying to decipher if these were just my chimera postulation episodes or a series of real time occurrences? Whatever the reality,  it didn't matter as long as you were here with me  in this moment, I was at a tranquil state in time and finally.. I understood what it meant to hypothetically float in space..

But as the moon faded into the morning sun and the cigarette burned to the filter tip I couldn't help wonder if nights like this could last longer or when will we re-live  these drunk jiffs as sober moments?

The ordinates concealed in your infinitesimal rationale
Insufficiencies portraying vestibules in your feverish attires
Every new soul you see makes you feel homeless
Dizzying altitudes you feel inside the depth of cavities
Indifference on pain and sufferings you crave for
And,
Hell; you feel inside grandeurs of perspectives
Hate; for the dearth of adulation on you
Liken Gaia could have never taught you of your frailty
Postulation of Karma and de-carnation of meanings made you converted
You were on the path of revolt
Against, say, cosmos!

Every symbolic gestures remind me of your meddlings
Penultimate; utter grievance of never ending poignancy
The night sky could have never baffled about your existence
Palpitation could have never made you shiver
But you have cried,
Of your loneliness!

Say,
A tiny fraction of clairvoyance I gave
Pulled you down into the puddle of wanderings
Instigation of a melody; created the symphony
A mere touch; drenched you into the silken lake
I spoke for your heart and you praised
Then, I gave you love but I got caged

How could I have done whatever you wished?

Since nobody knows,
The culminating dichotomy of your pantheistic ideas,
And of a maggot growing inside you
Breathless desires governing your feet,
And the time falsifying your plutonic ancestry
Mosaic glittering over your virtuous self,
And the tapestry of vanity covering your abysses
Depleting number of Hordes and Tartars fighting for your existence,
And devalued meaning of your modern-self

All those songs that never could soothe you
Teeny panting of your blasphemous heart
Multitude of distances you travelled
Series of condemnation bouncing between you and me
Your fleeting poverty
Your affections on materials
Like you die the death of pertinence
Love shall never please you

Nonchalant, over the,
Embargo you created on the faith
And the game you created on the bliss
But you shall never win
Since, you are a mere human soul
Bless you!!

silence is sage
and no gold is betrothed
to the folly of words.

wizened of old. i can taste
the word's iteration as the pen sees
the dreamer, as the paper
dictates the fate.

bespectacled, sizing down
the most fortuitous of spectacles,
in the pantheon
   belonging to the supremes
     destroying frailest caryatids
and awakening the mortal flame.

    how well you understood
the postulation of cold.
    how vivid, how precise
is your concept of the void.
  how seldom imposed
the crutch of loves,
    how mystic is the enigma
of the wide-eyed wanderer

    sifting through the word,
   the will, and the way!

Sorry bout all this poetry
such a rough approximation
ungainly and all
I have a dangerous
postulation
that I am here
only here
to entertain you
this is dangerous to me
as i am not very
and reluctant
to improve

We are the visible manifestation of a much deeper design.
Like the tip of an iceberg most of what we are is out of view.
Science tells us that only four percent of what makes up the Universe is visible to us, ninety six percent is unseen and unknown.
Science calls the ninety six percent unseen, dark matter and dark energy. They call it dark because they have no clue what either is.
Like the tip of a sharks fin if viewed by the unknowing would give no hint of what's below. Our lives, rules and being are ruled by the tip we see. All that we think we know comes from the visible four percent! A deeper dive would
illuminate ultimate reality, and all that we are and know would change.
It's the blind leading the blind in the world of the visible, and, we can only see a fraction of the visible. What then, in fact, do we really know at all?
When the corporeal turns to dust, when the four percent ceases to exist the ninety six simply ruminates and corporeally manifest itself some time/place else.
This is all just postulation you see, unlike the word of others who'll tell you how things must certainly be.

Banal though it may seem
I've judged myself an evergreen,
Having run the rugged miles
Showed the pain in grimaced smiles.
Sought the summit, felt the burn
Of tortured thighs at every turn,
Searing lungs and flagging will
Endure my son, until, until.


Articulation's lost for words
Selective memories unheard,
Herald in truth's bitter pill
Of vanquished foes, we speak no ill.
Wear exhaustion, lift the soul
Assign a new and distant goal,
For no one's really watching you
So stagger on, attempt anew.


Life's lost legions, tell the score
Self postulation'***** the floor,
So laugh in self derision now
It's all insane you silly cow.
As time spins on you try the moves
Which younger others usually use,
But one thing cuts you to the bone,
For when you die, you die alone.



Marshalg
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 September 2009