Post-it for self II - *Disoriented*

Sight

Variegated Hues of Magenta,
Bounce off pupils blistered,
Raw from too many days wandering,
A bleak twisted terrain,
Ghostly apparitions swirl,
Above the surface, waiting,
With baited breath,
As the last shreds of this reality,
Slip quietly away,
The moment of reckoning is drawing nigh,
Falling helpless, prostrate,
Before the mirror of life,
Staring death in the face,
Until sweet darkness descends,
Into welcome oblivion

Wake me up when it's morning...

C () !\! T /\ ! !\! !\/! E !\! T

In the Valley, o'er the hill

I heard a folklore that made me still.

Sturdy to scurry, too scared to flee

It reeked, eeked, creeked of moments to be.

Visions - they play constantly on my mind

Of memories, to memories I must myself bind.

An aged tale - a rickety brick

Cememted - yet betraying like a prick.

Fearlessly treading, righteousness on shoulder

Hate, angst, love, passion make the heart smoulder.

Containning life, holding memories

Sliding, but never releasing out of symmetry.

I see colour, I confess with pride

Hues and rhtyhms, taken with every stride.

The King's possessions be not dearer to me

As the slaved nobel locusts, angels, demons can never be set free.

The meter may go endlessly unwinding

But can light really be that blinding.

Wish I could let out a scream, a yell, create a brawl

But I'm only a well, a rope, a drawer...

Image courtesy the sketchbook of Sameerkulavoor