Whenever I’m asked to
Define life,
I impede myself
From a hastened,
Supposed denotation.
For I, (my life), am
Cornucopia of instants
Like a collection of sorts.
Whenever they ask
What I’m made of,
I reckon,
And say,
Kaleidoscope of Words,
For I am the words
Knotted into a piece
Bled into the void
Fledged into the realms
Of this and any other world
That ever existed.
I get the fight
Of trying to live
And losing the war.
But,
I stay for the win
Of a battle
Which couldn’t impede
The struggle.
Or change the course
Of the regular toil.
Yet,
I stay.
I linger in a war
I have already lost
To win a battle
Of a single day.
Why? You ask,
‘Cause I am a pathetic,
Unnerved soldier.
Who, yet, owns the grit
To incessantly fight
For the war, lost.
Lest a battle, fought.
Appalled. I’m way too appalled
And bewildered.
By the monotony of life,
The mundane strife,
And the constant agitation
Of the world inside my head.
My perpetual descent
Is incessantly progressing
To the days, unending.
Weeks, unrelenting.
And months, unyielding.
Yet.
I’m bewildered, yet unbothered.
Bewildered, only, inside my head,
Unbothered and unwavered
For I embraced
It all.
Why don’t I care?
Why don’t I fervour
A tomorrow, better?
A future, brighter?
Because,
The world of words
Couldn’t bear the heaviness
Of all the days
I’m forced to endure.
For I died many times, now,
I live on the add on
Of the residue days.
Or so it feels.
As if my existence
Is a mere indolence
Of the unwrapped folds.
It glows.
From the ashes of the crumbles
Of what once my life used to be,
The edifice of perfection
Which is now a rubble of exhaustion –
The blurred fire,
The crackling ember,
The finesse of flare,
Glows and glares!
The unfailing fervor
Blazes in the fading colors
Of the ordinary madness.
The undying zest
Crackles in the demised
Version of myself.
The crackling ember
Beneath the ruins of plunder
Blazes and flares
Even brighter.
Unabridged Manuscripts 