Apocalypse

What is loneliness
but the absolute
in how it creeps,
almost claws
its way
from the pit of
the stomach
up to the neck
of the abysmal,
the mundane
daily dreariness.

They call it life.

They who call it life
are the lonely souls
twinkling like little stars
in the sky of dawn
laughing, as their faces
turn into smoke
or, and
turn to the soil
caressing it with soft words
for night looms large,
moon-like. Mysteriously
beckons us to its fatal charm
for it will disappear
to appear in a blink-like
fashion till we hallucinate
on crack, cracking up
fragmented, in fragments
like ice, like love
like the Earth covered
in water and air and fire
and brown.

1,2,3

I see you
in fragments,
a shoulder there
and one eye, here
like a puzzle
of dots.
I hear you
in riddles
as you never
say commonplace things
or speak in gestures.
You only stand in silence
while words weigh you down,
and I stare at you, shamelessly
follow your every nuance.
For you are a river, and
I merely cruise.

Two Fishes

Floating on a tidal wave,
my tail flaps
in timid gestures of love-
searching, love.
Love of air, love of water
love of earth, love of fire
love of all things, divine.
Recklessly merging identities
yet lost, the meaning of one,
lost. For I am so many
its hard to know
which of me is real.
Seeing your face
everyday in infinite ways.
Everyday, a new you
and me, the same still.
Every way, you drift
further away, till I sense
your longing, that silent desperation
to swim together
in the harsh terrains of dull existence.

Take me out of water,
as I struggle to breathe.
Let. Me. Die.
a quiet solitary death
till you find my aching bones.
Throw them in fire, my bones
of dashed hopes. I
don't need them anymore.
Let me fly
for I can watch from above
this world of symmetry.
And then,
throw me right back,
to where I can swim
precipitating, floating
yet again. Bury me
in the deepest corners of your heart,
tend to my memories with the tears
for it is soil to our love.

Come now, let us rejoice.