Quartuor Muros

Candelabrum of thoughts
 inside four walls
of mausoleum
 spews light
lighting dark yester
 ignominies.
Innate questions
 gyrate inside
censuring sorts and likes.

 Who are you?
  &
 Who am I?

Then gone as dispersing soot

Ebony forms consuming
Darkness by night

 Yes, that’s what we are.
That’s what we are!!
 Is that what we are?

Doubts, oodles of them
 orchestrate in unison
keeping me captive;
 Lost myself to defining
and defying truth, standing
 At a vortex's mouth
expecting another free fall
 all inside medieval astylar

All

Within my four walls.

Art work courtesy my bro. He captures the essence like no other..thanks broah

Mute Boat

Spring's trip to a placid tarn
invading through thickets and orchids
reaching the mouth, b'yond barnacles
we row towards the silent quarter.

Eyes locked, lips latched and imbibing emotion.
In a wind's drift repressed senses and feelings reveal.

An outbreak of tender coyness and sly smile starts to show
on the erstwhile inanimate faces.

At the midst, we seize to oar pausing for breath on a sublime
evening and curse and yearn inside, wishing the other should talk.

The lake and life among the thickets seem to whisper
respecting new, an outset.
Steady but impatient ripples slap at my prow gently
as if nudging me to speak up.
Decelerating hull rocks, waking us from nonchalant selves.
Air around is viscous than the swamp we duck o’er.
In this unbearable tension, the Sun of the mackerel sky
too hides between the wings of Finches and Canaries.

Like an oust eroding tranquil minds, she placed
her hand on my lap, leaning towards a then
emptied soul.

Chirps, noises, flutters & flusters

Birth of bedlam on the laps of nature
Avowing a touch to be the verse of
million words simply said
and understood.

Trinity

Thoughts
and then me
trudge away from
one another.
Towards

a different threshold,
a different realm..

Memento
of separation
crawls from inside
in the form of
an eternal
malaise

now we are
to each other..

..Esoteric. Estranged..
Riddled and ridiculed.

Ab absurdo. Ad absurdum

Like a disowned corpse shell
In the womb of all voids
Forming the most
incongruent trivalents

Me. Thought. I.