Tell Me No More of Enchanted Days

  It's an illusion, This life, this love, this conundrum Over what's enough. Nothing's ever enough. Ever tried catching the rain in your hands? Felt that ridiculous romanticism, Where you metaphored over  Diamonds and dew? Over freedom and a song? Colour of a rainbow your soul? I call bullshit to your poetry, Your prose, your constant  Alchemising meanings out of nothingness. This rotten gutter that stinks of your Air of vanity; the buried leaves carrying The wayward son into the muddy ground. Smack that hand into your head, And wake up, you bastard of the squally winds, You godforsaken ashen scaly fish liar Who spins fairy tales out of sordid pithies! Suck it up, your disgraceful tears of empathy, And snort that unicorn valour out of your nose. A word is a word is a word. Not gold spun out of straw by  Names you can't pronounce. Not roses smelling sweet, Eulogised by dead poets, Who say one thing and mean another. The sound and the fury, In the life of a modern idiot.

  Hidden deep inside, From prying eyes, wanting  To reveal how we are all the same, But still, choosing to be silent, Choking on words, but wanting To burst, flow into a mess into my hands, The heart of the matter is always a colour. Wine red, the world at the bottom of a glass, The stain on her lips, remains of flaunting Approval, then smudged into ignorance. The gifts you got me were always the same. "It is your colour," you would say. And now I search for the same clothes, The same disguised passion in others. Just like mine; outside the dull yellow  Of pretense, inside the colour  Of blood running wild in your veins, Farm horses that never forget to dream Of running in the moonlight again.

  I had the most wondrous dream last night. I generally don't share my dreams because they are personal and I have multiple dreams in one night, some prophetic, some catastrophic, some just plain weird. I used to keep a dream journal many years ago inspired by Jack Kerouac, but that ended up being so surreal that it freaked me out as well. I dreamt of living in a cave. There were foxes there and this world had only two colours, pink and green. It's like the designs you see when you close your eyes, the whirls of pink and green that build and burst like bubbles and finally disappear. After what seemed like an eternity in the cave, I decided to step out. There was a river flowing outside and a beautiful path that led to a sky of glitter. It called to me and my feet ached to go towards it. The horizon was endless pink and the grass green and shiny dew like diamonds hung on the grass. I decided not to go down the path. I wanted to explore what else lay in this world. So I took anot

  (Image courtesy: Unknown Pleasures, Joy Division) The sky is heavy, Impalpable, cotton soaked days, Any moment now, it will pour. But before the release, comes the tension, Building, building, like a stranger's glance, Cutting through the essence of your soul. Like a dog eared book, read by so many before. The pain in your toe, from hitting the floor, So pleasurable as you squeeze it, Each time you want to feel some more. Like the sharpness of ice, melting  In your hands, and gone before you know. It's in that exact moment, before the whispers Turn into satisfied screams, before the great reveal, Of the killer's identity; before it all comes To the fore, that beautiful tye of love and longing. And then when it happens, the nostalgia Of wanting some more, and wishing you never knew, Just drank till you touched the place, Before you were high, so that you could Relive this moment every day once more.