Fleeting Memories

So you finally come to me,
and sing a medley of love songs,
but to me,
it sounds like vultures searching for blood,
you are no minstrel,
But have intentions like that of the Pied Piper,
I lie, retrospecting, and the heroin kicks in,
Lying on a bed of air, I dream of carcass,
a carcass inhering in a field of disappointment,
being hunted by lost dreams and unwanted offspring,
rock solid ground below, wavering souls above,
the body dissolves into the ground,
the soul remains, now another amongst the billions,
preaching about the truth of life like a newbie,
while millions more rise from dissolved bodies,
coming to preach only some more,
the heroin wears off, I wake,
your face fleeting from my memory as it were here only a few moments back,
newspaper on the table, dated a month ago,
your face in the autopsy,
a knife with dried blood remains,
my fingerprints on it.

The Traveller

Years and years I roam, each night on a different memory foam,
Looking for a place that I can call home.
Sheets left bloodied in the morning, abandoned,
Drugs offer solace in the afternoon,
And when the evening approaches, another club is entered into,
Seeking forever for the one I can call mine,
Nine nights remain till the cancer kills me,
Nine nights, nine victims,
One police siren, the same one every night,
356 days ago, the cancer was diagnosed,
356 have died ever since,
Nine more shall receive solitude,
Till my body succumbs to its own tumour,
Nine nights later only one shall die, on a memory foam long forgotten.

An Unforgiving Transition

I need to find my way,
A hundred kilograms on my back; I need to find the path soon
Sudden whims and vicious thoughts hinder my sight
No one seems to understand my plight
I stand here under this moonlit sky, with a hundred kilograms on my back,
I need to find my way.

Wolves howl in my ears,
Demons scream in my mind,
Telling me I won’t ever find it,
Telling me I’d be engulfed by the darkness,
“T’will be so on the day I die.”, I say
“And so you shall die soon.”, they reply
Scared, I run. I run with the hundred kilograms on my back, till the sun comes up,
The wolves and demons disappear, as if afraid of the light,
Oh, those petty fools, running from the very thing that sustains my kind,
With the voices gone, I focus on the hundred kilograms on my back,
My curiosity piqued, I peek in and see things unspoken wishing to be spoke,
Realizing that resistance would increase the load, I decide to speak,
With eyes full of tears and a heavy heart,
I speak.
As I speak, I feel a few grams slowly reducing from the load,
Person to person I go, cutting off a few grams with each person,
Only twenty kilograms are left,
Only one thing left to be said,
This is going to be a hard one,
I tell the person something that had been festered in my heart for a long time,
Finally, I don’t care about the response I get,
Only focused on the lessened burden, again I stand with a straight back.

With the burden gone, my mind less cluttered,
I can see my path clearly,
The bends are all mine,
So are the potholes and asphalt,
No kilograms on my back, I walk
I walk on the path and live a life,
I found my way.