Last Verse

Poet, Artist, Lover of Math
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The sultry seduction of sleep, once she has you in her folds, death is the last step

lx

Forked ways lay a-
jar, splintered away ways
this humanity

lix

Mind you, these days are
filled, brimming zealously
stresses upon stress

lviii
The precarious
nature of your life edges
points in my mind.

Let’s pull them out one by one and count the stories that wove into them. Perhaps it’ll remind you of when we were human enough to open our hearts as open heartedly as our arms. Instead of forlorn days spent pickling desires by the hearth.

Each un-stitching, an upending of fears, lost causes, de-motivations and regret bordering on contempt. And an underlying ease for freedom, for opening up…

Open up, some stitches last only so long.

If you only had an idea about the lengths I went to stitch you up, you’d pull the seams out over and over again. Coz dreams take pinching, prodding, measuring, twice overs and some cutting and perhaps also some sizing.

Don’t let it take you all apart.

The refusal for the acceptance of progress/change- so what if things
change, oh wait, they don’t. Technology improves, new discoveries are made, that’s a given but ideas stay the same so you must act that way. No need to go fend the world because it’s a scary place and the safest place is being inside with everyone. stagnating.

i. The excessive fear- that everyone and everything is going to break-in,
attack, pillage, steal. Every creak and every tap is a deafening roar that
something is going wrong. That perhaps, noises are the natural part of
life, the house groans in the passing of the day, just as your old body
complains about its stifle-ment. But fear, that dastardly fear, bides the
domain to fester in the locked windows, airless rooms and strangling hallways.

when burns start looking like designs, what’s the difference between pain and beauty?

we die, we breathe, we live
truth always prevails and
falsehood perishes

and the cycle continues.