believe

home is a point in infinity

i used to see a home
at the deep end of this road

it's been a while
now
i've been walking
for quite sometime now

cutting
miles after miles
now


my feet have become
battered oars
that have seen
seas at their roughest
and their unkindest
for sometime now

i used to see a home

it's been a while now


the topography
and the texture
and the nature
of the earth
beneath my soles
keep changing

but the home i see
stays fixed
at some distant point
in infinity

and i've kept walking towards it ever since
i first saw
it's been a while now

there have been times
when i have thought
should i stop walking
and just lie down now

but the side of a road
the feet of a moutain
the womb of a valley
the duvet of the desert
and dreams
made out of the night sky and the
invisible daytime stars
aren't exactly home now

not the home
i see
at the deep end of this road

and it's been a while now

i carry the fear
i carry
the weight of the thought
the weight of its absence
now

it's been a while now

the home fixed at some
distant point in infinity
at the deep end of this road

and i've been walking towards it
for sometime now

home has become
synonymous
to
walking towards
the
home
at the deep end of this road
now

home
has become
cutting
miles after miles
now

home
has become
my feet
now

sea worn
spirit torn
battered oars
now

home
has become
a while
now

home
has taken
a while
now

awake, i am safe.

safe
when i am
awake

it is sleep
i am careful
not to slip into

lest something
that is now and present
slip away

awake
i am safe
sleep, i dread
and all that
follows

dreams, maybe
nightmares, why not
and time

time
timed
and time in a hurry
like time
losing out on time

time
timed out
and mistimed
rapid eye movement
with vacant
stagnant pupils
and iris
fluttering
like a trapped butterfly
shedding its colours
leaving colours behind on
uncaring callous
fingertips

sleep
sleep i dread

awake
i am safe

a love letter

it has been too long

my fingers do not remember how to hold a pen

and write.

there is some ancient muscle memory

but as memories very often are

this one too is feeble

weak. weak is what it is.

this is supposed to be a love letter

but my heart is heavy.

that perhaps is a good thing.

perhaps the most honest and real and true

love letters can only be written with a heavy heart

and by those who are in possession of one.

this heaviness focusses me.

it numbs me to every sight, sound, scent and sensation lurking around.

this heaviness forces me to only pay attention to this singular, dull throb. somewhere to the left of centre of my being.

a steady, dull throb. like a primitive tribal beat.

and in that dull, steady, unwavering primitive throb, i find my true primitive self.

in that throb of a moment, i become the beat and the drum.

dried leather pulled forcefully over a coarse, unpolished, unrefined wooden tube. hastily stitched up at both ends.

the leather isn't taut and shiny. it is loose. and it is wrinkly.

it is indifferent.

it is me.

i am the throb and the beat.

i am the primitive tribal drum.

i am the catalyst and i am the action and the cause.

i am the reaction. i am the chain of events set into motion.

i am the hand that strikes and i am the sound which emanates.

i am controlled and i am the crescendo.

but

this is supposed to be a love letter.

yet i am with a heavy heart as i write this.

perhaps the most honest and real and true love letters can only be written with a heavy heart.

nonetheless, this is a love letter. from me to you.

and yet in this instant throb of a persistent moment, i am going to write and think about me.

it is only fair that i get to know me

before i claim to love you.

this is supposed to be a love letter

unlike any other ever written.

this is a love letter that will 

end

up being just like all the innumerable ones

that were never written.

never written.

only recited in the minds of people

who only ever partially existed for themselves.

written in the mind of that which lies to the left of centre.

written in the mind of that which lies.

lies and hides.

and the more it does the more it reveals.