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My Meow Mooos

Life, Leverage and Limits

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Psychology

Paced

Taking steps were so difficult
In those days… And now…
Running sounds more apt.

Hope from the grabbed churn,
Blank over the dreams overrun;
Ruined remnants of the scholarly vices,
Blind hearty matters and dreadful disguises.

Gloom over the severed bonds,
Celebration of those lost seconds;
Fight over someone else’s wealth
Careless about the precious health.

Bucks that cling to mind no more,
Blocks that float but reach no shore;
Windows open to the polluted skies,
Suffocated with innumerable lies.

Hurrying to step out of this mournful hell;
Ended up holding, in dark, the demon’s tail.

Life has its own tryst with self…
Not being sure if it is…
Pissed off or paced up.

© Amaresh Swain

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Being Myself!

Who cast an imprecation at me,
The time changed at the hit of the night;
So meretricious it appeared,
I followed it sans questions;
And when I found
The right, The Wrong and then some
I got that I was tired
And not right.

The king and the pawn

I was tired of being myself
With lots of possibilities and confusions:
The dreams and the aims,
The feet and the steps,
So not-in-accord.
So helpless like a ten cross ten matrix,
Attenuated with time gradually,
It seems like a self claimed portrait
Of hopelessness
When I come across the mirror.

Then it happens,
Someone silently approaches
Out of the dark;
Want to hold my hand and walk,
Till sunrise,
And leave me refreshed
Not tired, not dejected.

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