sands of time

"Etherized upon a table"


The lingering descripencies of my entire existance,
contrasted with the shallow depths of befallen reality,
overly undone concious decisions
ruined by the meek assertiveness,
miserable persistance, and once prevailing ambitions
stand in the penny arcade of the time's plaza;
resembling the questions
which once stood stout,
infront of the magic mirror of youth,
they stand stout,
but infront of the hands of the clock,
stuffed and mummified,
Their eyes wide open and faces astound.
The hour passes, the hands impel,
the clock strikes some music into the air,
glee like a blossoming camelia spreading fragrance,
the message resounds through those empty stares:
Moments are the beads in the thread of time,
And the necklace shines for those who know
The eternity is in a moment –
Each followed by another,
as they slip through the fingers of perception.

Of Food and a Man

"Etherized upon a table"

He could see the rope unfolding and reaching the ground, like a huge tounge rolls out of a giant's mouth; in this case the giant was the castle. Then out of the mist, behind the red curtains of silk, a face appeared, and the slightly gestured the arms signaling something: as a policeman directs traffic. The signal was a clear sign for him to ascend the rope of his dreams (last night's dreams perhaps). He grabbed the rope in his hands, and pulled it. He was unsure of the knot up there; as if he could not trust the face. He grabed the rope, only to let it go after he realized he could not climb without the help of his feet. So he took of his boots, and stuffed them into his overcoat's pocket. He started climbing the rope.

To his surprise there was no one to recieve him on the balcony, and he had to make his way up the heavy stone's gothic-railing; breathless, he took a while to calm before finally crossing the red curtains. In the room, he was greeted by darkness, while his pupils took time to adjust to the dim candle light. Finally, he started noticing the aroma of desire inside the room.

A royal bed with veils dropped, covered with off-white sheets of silk, which shone in the candle light, harboring fruits on them. Fruits, that were scattered from one corner of the bed to the other. He saw a plaintain peeking from under the pillow, on top of which rested a water-melon - both of which pointed in the same direction of two red round tommatoes. Tommatoes, as if bowing down to the greatness of the Cucumber. The mighty, the colosus cucumber. In the back of his mind he felt that it was an arabic cucumber; unleashed from some ancient desert's fairytale. The apples were the mere spectators. And the melons seemed to had a high esteem of organizers of the show, perhaps -- they were to be thanked after every applaud, and congratulated at the end.

Noticing his pockets heavy, he realized his boots were still in there. Mind boggled with the intensity of the scenerio, and heaviness of his pockets, he gently grabbed the toe of his left boot, and slid it out, very gently and slowly, as if he did not want his coat to mind that. He repeated the same with the other boot, with the same caution, but this time his eyes catching glance of a radish, on the floor, with long green leaves, smothered togather, giving an impression of a long leather strap. His boots were destined to rest with the raddish on the same grounds.

Overwhelmed, and perhaps euphoric for no reason at all, he looked around, when a voice distracted him from the other corner of the room. He turned spontaneously, to be greeted with a smile on the face, and hear the words, "The dinner is served".

Finals

"Etherized upon a table"
I was checking the site statistics today. It appears that because of the finals, the hits per day has dropped tremendously. I myself, havent had time to put anything on here.
Curse you finals! I hope you go to hell, you go to hell and you die, finals!

word of the day

"Etherized upon a table"

polymorphously perverse
use: I am polymorphously preverse, or you are polymorphously perverse. Are you?

Another experiment

"Etherized upon a table"

The world plays like a child's play
infront of me every day,
as I witness the irony
in the so called tragedy.
The mountains crumble,
and the deserts blur,
seeking my attention,
when I am walking by.
The paradox of entity has caught my glance;
on one side its life,
on the other its you.
Do not ask how I pretend about it,
just notice
that I do not in your presence.
Rationality is stopping me
as temptation drags me;
let me drink some more,
till the paralysis takes over me completely.

Sleep

"Etherized upon a table"

From the graves of the unborn men
comes the invisible sand,
which when sprinkled,
puts him in a trance.
The water flows underneath,
and the feathers fly over him,
the colors change
from desert brown to winter green,
as he turns calmly, changing sides,
in the shelter of the earth's womb.


I am not sure, if the wombs can have shelters.
Question to readers: What if I replace him with a she? Wouldnt it sound like giving a girl roofies in her drink?

surrealistic seagull's

"Etherized upon a table"

The raging storms which roam within my dreams
of hope turning into the colors of despair:
Dark; I dream of blackness
wrapped around my entity, and I around it.
The blue sky turns dark, and a shimmering star breaks free and falls into my lap.
The dreamer looks into the star, yet to find a universe a new,
In the universe of dreams, the star shines:
dark is the sky, but the dot of the star is bright;
A child holding the star in the sky.

Teapot The First !

"Etherized upon a table"

I asked teapot to post a critique on one of my works ("Stroke after Stroke on the keyboard") a few days ago. She claimed she did not understand what it was about, after my repeated emphasis that it is the best on my blog, here is what she emailed me :

it doesnt help.
maybe its cuz im a moron. but i think its because youre just stuffing in toooo much in a few lines.
its not poetry its a condensed essay, all dehydrated and jammed into a glass jar so u can only see the sides, and not the inside, and then the tag says: this jar of condensed is a poem for connoisseurs.
It is an acquired taste, i guess is what im trying to say.
like blue cheese, cow brains and corona beer. fried octupii. Vodka on the rocks. power shakes made with raw egg. beef tartar (yuk). sushi. fried grasshoppers. milk. hot milk. that salty yogurt drink u like.
acquired taste.

Dear Edgar Allan Poe:

"Etherized upon a table"

I mourn the loss of melancholy, as my heart slums into a dark alley of the truths untold. I seek my refrain and find no Os in the repetetion of what the heart once adored. The elevation of the soul, and the pleasures of the heart are all stories a past -- the connotation does not varry; the allietrations invain: the ugliness lingers and the papers are stained, with words that follow like a tideous argument and questions, which are raised, but on the matter they fail: the poem does not exude beauty.

Realization of the self

"Etherized upon a table"

Bright as a sun the fire burns my heart,
Ravaging my soul into corners apart.
In my dreams I have seen the face;
Tiny facets of myself reflecting through smoke.
Touched them I didn’t, I was afraid --
Neither smiled at them nor I cried.
Each one of them I shall hold in my hand, till --
Yes, I shall become one with them.

True meaning

"Etherized upon a table"

Catenary: (ktn-r, k-tn-r) A Cat infested House.
Noseiea: (Nose - iea) : Severe sinus condition caused by infections such as flu - anything that causes the nose to run.

complete - nonsense

"Etherized upon a table"

I
In a mechanical routine the birds sing and the wind blows; its six'O clock. The same thought repeats itself; before the brain went numb, with the realization that it wasnt rightly done. One shoe is still upside down, the socks are on the floor, the empty bottles next to the bed; and eyes still red. A leap out of the bed and into the world; the birds chirp and mourn. The car cranks alive. The old man in wheelchair by the mailbox looks emptily into the empty world. A school bus in the front that always stops. And never enough time for the breakfast.

II
The machines mourn, and cry as I, Once more, am surrounded by
the faces of wood, who bear the archaic smiles; with the work piled on the desk; the coffee mug empty, and the eyes still red.
The hour glass freezes; the death is delayed: the eyes from their sockets, behind the smiles, observe the devotion, as the sacrifice is brought on the altar of silicon to the gods of finance with a smile. The subtle glances of mercy at the clock are not answered, until it is time. The man by the computer looks emptily into the empty world.

III
The birds sing, and the wind still blows, far away in the land of the alive, in the dim shadows of the lamp lights. I sit here, on the table for two, after raising the question, like a dead body is raised from its coffin to fulfill some court’s ruling: hoping it’s not what I know - its not what I have always known. The wood has rotted, and the smile has faded: the question has been answered. Now my eyes are fixed on the empty glass, as I look emptily into the empty world.

You say I hear

"Etherized upon a table"

You say I hear; I say, you wait, and we alternate; waiting for the right moment: when I will say without words and you'll hear my heartbeat. There will be a moment when I'll reach out, and touch you; when the words wont be a hurdle, and you will lay in my arms. Till then we have to talk; call each other , and pretend that its nothing.

On Continuity

"Etherized upon a table"

dinosaurs of the thoughts evolve through the tides, the thunders, and the quakes of perception. Each stage in a sentence; each species in a thought; from dinosaurs to humans in one poem.
There are those who get extinct, and vanish between the inter-sentence thoughts. Pay attention to the ones who survive, as they have evolved from the ones who could not.
Dig deep for the missing connection, as the continuum is burried right here; in between the lines.

Stroke after stroke on the keyboard

Stroke after stroke on the keyboard
I decipher the words as they roar:
Truth shall not be told –
The veil is the skin you wear!

The words of the prophets,
And the advice of the wise,
Shall die with a dying fall; 1
Once and for all.

Roam I shall through muttering retreats, 2
And my blood will never be fired. 3
Live I shall,
And happiness will never perspire.

No more I’ll see the wolf in the mirror, 4
only, the wolf will see me and fear.




NOTES:
1. dying fall: love-sick Duke Orsino's opening line in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

2. T.S Eliot's "Let us go through those half deserted streets the muttering retreats .." in J.Alfred Prufrock's Love song.

3. "my blood will never be fired! " Marquis tells the King in Don Carlos by Schiller.

4. Steppenwolf by Hesse - The protagonist sees a wolf baring teeth at him in the magic mirror.