Sadafuli

When does a house cease to be a home?
It is a mere shell, but it was much more
to me, to us, it was....
How do I say it?
How can words capture all the things it was?
But let me try, I will try because
I must
before the feeling is lost, and the dust
has settled on these tumbling thoughts.
That street we played in, those pebbles and potholes
Treasure map, field, playground, it played many roles
And many a day spent in breaking the rules
The laughter, the sleuthing, the vagaries of youth
Sitting by the door we whiled away the hours
protected from view by the leaves and the flowers
Bell flower white, I still see you in my dreams
I remember the climbers with fronds dusky green
I remember the dialogues we had on those steps
the gossip, the discourse, the disclosed secrets
The wandering fakir who stood there and spoke
of his world and ours and castles of smoke
In from the door to the wide white-floored hall
Every chip in the tiles, every crack I recall
I loved them all.
Ghosts in everything here, all the moments that were,
and a bed that will always belong to Her.
Four rooms where I talked and raged and
slept and cried and laughed my way through
eighteen years of my life.
What a time it has been!
It was our space, just ours, to live and breathe
To be without thinking, in joy and in grief
but now it's time to move on and away
Goodbye dear house, you will be missed,
You were home for years, a lovely one,
and you will be a memory for years to come.

To be Human

What does it mean to be human?
They asked themselves once
Long ago, and found
No answer, many answers,
and drowned
in more questions, all seeking
a sense of clarity
But this was a dusty place then,
with dusty things all around
Coherence was a rarity,
a luxury to grow into
And grow into it they did
spouting fire, spitting fear,
building love to the far frontier
In growing they forgot
the question
that once drove them onward
to the bounds of their cramped spaces,
out of dust and into space -
What does it mean to be human?

Look at them now,
gazing from the peaks they
thrashed and blasted and
gasped and clawed their way to.
They should sense it,
waiting
The long arm of Reason ready
to fan away the dust and,
finally,
really see the Universe
waiting,
arms outstretched to guide them through.
They don't see it, they don't look
They fan fires and shoot bullets and
dig their way down,
down the mountain they overtook.
Turn their back to the infinite
and huddle in the bounds of their bubbles
No longer wondering,
perhaps forgetting...

What should it mean to be human?
Not this.

Peak before plummet

I forget, at times,
how much I have already failed
I forget those obsidian depths
at the end
of plunges I thought would break me
Yet it is today and I am here
I climbed again and fell again
and felt again
momentarily weightless
as the world disappears
and certainty is lost
before the long descent begins
Yes, this has happened before
I have entered before
this manifold of dark whispering
bleak wanderings
of the mind unmoored from the
vicissitudes of chiseled time
There's a dreaminess about it all
and has been before
perhaps will be again?
There is comfort in this dawning,
that I was here and I suffered
and that I once lived to suffer
no more.

The Sky came calling

 










"Don't look up", they said
"Whatever's the point?
It's not like you'll get there,
it's bound to disappoint
you, so let go," they said
and then looked away.
I listened, I did,
and heeded for a day.

But everyday since
I can't tear away my gaze
There's a yearning to rise,
a constant malaise.
My feet they will falter
I'm blind to their course
I see only upward
There is no recourse

And I heard them, I did,
So I'll fail if I must
And I'll get there someday
or crumble to dust
It'll tear me apart, but I must.

Thoughts with pictures

 ~~~~1~~~~

I will walk these paths of green
with shades of bliss and sorrow
Answer summons unforseen
to inscrutable Tomorrow

 ~~~~2~~~~

Someday I shall fall
Roll away with a touch of air
Disappear into the earth
or burn in the morning glare
But, for now, I stand resplendent
Fleeting yet unrepentant

 ~~~~3~~~~

The world went still and silent
as if time were beginning anew
She raised her eyes to the cavernous void
And the sky came rushing through

 ~~~~4~~~~

Purdue by night

These imposing halls of wisdom
These kingdoms of gaiety
Monuments to discourse
Ensconced in longevity

 ~~~~5~~~~

If I must meet my end,
let me drown in a sea of light
Let me go in a blaze of glory
like the sun, into the long night

~~~~6~~~~

Said one, "O brother in arms, if you should fall,
I would shed tears of sap for thee."
Said the other "And I for thee, brother mine,
but alas! It's not in my biology."

 ~~~~7~~~~

Unproductive grad student: 

a haiku
Purdue's dressing up
for new students, but that means
Summer is over 😩

~~~~8~~~~

Hiding in plain sight
Sometimes the most unassuming flower
on a familiar path
catches my eye
And I wonder, if I miss
such beauty as this,
what other delights
have I gone blindly by

~~~~9~~~~

 

Roadside Rudbeckia
These lonely streets are thronging
with chattering empty faces
The storms of war are gathering
in some faraway places

And everyday seems closer
Closer to the End

But, for a moment, that feels distant
Banished by this happy display
A little spot of captured sunshine
 that gets me through everyday

Originally published via Instagram profile: eterno_mutato

Procrastination

The seconds tick
tock tick tock
on by
and the page is blank
with not a word.
It's absurd.
My roving eye catches
and I see myself
at the bottom of a cup
not a glass, a cup
of coffee.
I know what you were thinking
It's not as bad as that,
not yet;
though nothing's set
in stone.
Like a drumbeat of my being
the minutes tick
tock tick, and 
I feel I should be feeling
but there's nothing.
Not a worry,
tensions blurry,
though they should be
vehement, vivid, vibrant
in my eye
and in my mind,
but there is
nothing.
It's all slipping away
and I should be
chasing, choking, clawing
it back
instead I sit here
and I write
and I watch
the hours
tick tick tock.

A quest for singularity

Is there a more hopeless fate

than being a human mean?

Not lots or little gifted,

just somewhere in between

She is smart and capable,

passable, competent, fair

Never breached extraordinary,

and sadly is aware

of being merely average,

yet wanting so much more

Trapped in triviality,

for history to ignore

An unresistant speck in a surge,

lost in tide and time

No footprints in the sand for her,

just faceless pantomime

What is she but a footnote

on a swiftly turning page

A mute supernumerary 

in an unfortunate age

Born a century too early,

or a hundred years too late

To be, perhaps, exceptional 

but never truly great.

In a multitude of equals

she draws comfort from none

In a herd of trudging many, 
she but struggles to be One

Thoughts from a Walmart checkout line

So I was in Walmart last week, waiting to checkout on a particularly crowded evening. It occurred to me to wonder whether anyone in the crowd was telepathic (who among us hasn't thought about that one, at least once....right?). I then started wondering how I could possibly tell even if someone around me could in fact read my mind. So I did the only thing to be done, under the circumstances. I deliberately thought "I know you can hear me" very loudly (so to speak) and immediately started intently examining the faces of the people around me. This drew some confused and awkwardly shifting gazes (particularly from the two ladies standing right behind me), but I concluded these to be more a reaction to being suddenly owlishly scrutinized by a dumpy little stranger than proof of thought-reception. Though disappointed it dawned on me that, if someone could in fact hear what I was thinking, they wouldn't fall for the whole I-know-your-secret trick because they'd mind-read a bright red Admiral Ackbar warning right alongside it (it's a trap)! Now this was a real quandary and kept me occupied through most of checking out (I must confess I shockingly ignored the very enthusiastic high school senior manning the counter. Sorry, high school senior). As I was paying up, I realized there's no real way around that caveat so I decided to make one last attempt and leave. So I thought (deafeningly, just in case) "CAN YOU HEAR ME?" and scanned my surroundings.

Right then, I saw this 8 year old (or thereabouts) little girl turn to look right at me. 

RIGHT. AT. ME. 

And she nodded.

For the space of about 1 second, I felt an overwhelming mixture of disbelief, excitement, guilt (gosh knows what other thoughts I inflicted on that poor child), and a bunch of micro-feelings that are impossible to name. A real live telepath???

Nope. Of course not.

Turns out, the little lady was nodding acquiescence to some request from her mother who was standing some ways behind me. This sad, but also much more believable, truth brought on another barrage of pesky feelings. Mostly embarrassment (accompanied, of course, by an inevitable reddening of cheeks because why shouldn’t my vascular system make things worse when it can?).

It is forgivable, I think, this entertaining of a totally nonsensical notion with some seriousness (or total conviction) for a brief moment in time. Even scientists and academicians and researchers are allowed their own pet fantasy and science fiction hopes and dreams after all, even if they will almost certainly never be reality.

Plus, Walmart was clearly the wrong place to try this. Even telepaths should be allowed to navigate that treacherous quagmire in peace.

New year's dishes

Another year rolling past, 

another digit, done at last.

 

Changes, hopes, are spoken words. 

Will they come? Be lost unheard?

 

What has changed? It's a normal day 

What is new, in a real way?

 

Much to rejoice, much to rue. 

But at the end of the day, I've dishes to do.

Miles of blank paper

I feel so pointless
like a pencil with no purpose
like a sub-optimal product
in an ineffective surplus.

The tide I started out with
has now rushed ahead without me.
I am drowning in the backwash
of this mediocrity.

The joy of helping others
someone's hope to carry through
I'm sure it is enthralling!
But that is not what I do.

To know there is one other
to share days with, one by one
To spew out genome copies with!
But that's not what I've done.

I find myself confounded
in normal conversation
when people ask me casually
"what is your occupation?"

"I learn for a living"
How silly is that sounding?
In a competitive world
this reply is most astounding.

Many do conclude, I know,
that I am just confused,
and the reason that I do this is
I know nothing else of use.

But the worst, the absolute worst -
is that nagging inner view,
that haunting, crazing question
"what if I suck at this too?"

Twixt night and light

Night - roiling dense and dark,

the aftermath of day,

smoldered across half this world

and Shadow lost her way

She fused into the inky black

stealing through the wild

and vanished swooping from the land

where lurid unlight smiled.

But as the rayless fog advanced

its restless step was halted

and in the midst of sooty gloom

a flash of light exhalted!

A gleam, a tiny golden spark,

a radiant piece of day

It tore the shroud of night aside

and Shadow came out to play

Leaping, swaying, soar and surge

vast as the light expanse

and now! as tiny as can be,

in her merry Shadow dance.

But the spark burst forth in radiance

so brilliant to behold

and Shadow faded once again

consumed by luminance bold

Small talk

Clack clack clack the tongues run on

will it ever cease?

Endless broadcasts of everything

everyone

ever thought

to think.

Eardrums resonate with the thrum,

the droning hum.

I only wish

they could blink

as well.

Words on words on wordy words,

missiles seeking minds,

aimed at attention,

crushed by perception.

Do their masters ever wonder,

I wonder,

is there anything they say,

utter, mutter,

that has not been said

a thousand times before?

Mended cracks

Patience wanes steady
all my
hostile thoughts ready
for the
battle so heady
waiting
in the wings, ready,
to just
wipe away, steady,
all we are.

Will you dare to delay,
try to halt and allay,
raw emotion give away,
buried feelings to betray
in an effort to allay
all this anger, and delay
this war bizarre?

You need only speak
a single word
to make me weak
Such havoc
you can wreak
in my heart,
powerless weak
as it is.
Just please speak
and be done.

And this rage will be stilled
with not a drop of heartblood spilled
and no ruins to rebuild.
But, can the dreams be fulfilled
now, with this ugly secret spilled
by the rage you have now stilled,
my dear one?

Of lovers in love (not)

I'm alone and in a rut

need to think of something but

there's a feeling in my gut

I won't make sense

to naught anyone but me

and that's the way that it will be

because I cannot really see

past this pretence.

We can tug and we can try

strain our hearts and even cry

but this life will just go by

without a chance

at a state of real connection,

for the trappings of affection

are merely imperfection,

best viewed askance.

Life has things of more import,

my dear friend, I do exhort

you to speedily abort

this futile plan

lest the feeling should take hold

and then get so very bold

and then completely enfold

as well it can.

And so I must tell you this,

before you fall in the abyss

of this temporary bliss,

so listen well.

Resist! Though you be drawn,

for the shine will soon be gone

and the cold hard light of dawn

all dreams dispel.

You may well ask me why

despite all this we still defy

all good sense and yet retry

to love invoke.

Upon most grave reflection

of this fateful predilection,

I must say natural selection

played a joke.

The World's Largest Democracy

Pretty paper banners
fluttering in the street,
Smiling faces, nailed-in grins,
at every corner meet.
Oh! It is that time again
to make a chump of reason.
Brace yourself and prepare
for 'tis election season.
Oranges dressed as saffron,
greens and whites shining
Kites, palms and lotuses
up the streets are lining.
Don't forget brand new brooms,
old elephants and things
and all the random symbols
this lovely season brings.
Candidates come to larger-than-life,
each pose in mint condition,
desirable by patronage,
illustrious by omission.
Come all ye faithful
begin the ritual cleaning
of ideas and ideals and
reflections of great meaning.
Let us pretend for now
that we know what's going on
who does what, with whom, and why,
(for how much) and so on.
Hurry up now, Indians all,
time to take a stand!
Despite ideologies, you know,
the value's in the brand.
Let the voting force march out,
kingmakers that we are,
Get that ink-spot and revel
in the utterly bizarre
conviction that, this time, justice
in some sense has been done
And then insist, 2-years-post,
that the biggest conman won.

Theatre Extraordinaire

Tis a dying world breathing its last,

gasping for precious moments

of continuance.

Welcome to the last and final show -  

A grand pretence of life,

a manic exuberance, 

a tragic remembrance

of better times.

Vie to be the stars of the final rendition,

on this glorious stage.

The biggest sham of them all

was believing it was bigger

than it seemed.

It's the Grand Finale! Come one and all

a show you wouldn't want to miss,

couldn't miss it

if you did.

Places, lights, all in place

for one last act.

Spectators spectral throng the seats

at the end of time.

Pause

It has been year since I last wrote,
a long time indeed
Before there comes even one new word,
there is a lot that I must read.
Have I changed since last I penned a word?
thus the question stands
This fluid mind can't help be recast,
carved by the passing sands
of Time, for that never stopped
even if I did halt.
So much happens in a day, a month...
a year is a seething vault
of dissent, revolt, agonized introspection
and every dark design.
Of endearment, agreement, zest and smiles
and concerns more benign.
Changes big and changes small in
every little thing
And still to come, sooner than I'd like,
transition is yet lurking
What shadow, menacing silhouette
lies out there in wait?
What misty future striding up
did this past year create?
Deer in the headlights, tumbling thoughts
and raging heart am I
I need a pause, a while to think!
But time is racing by

Expecto inopinatum

I can hear you, you know, out there
loud and clear
You thought you were cat-like
Clearly not, my dear.
Silence is not your forte, now I know.
Unfortunate that is
In you line of, ahem, work, that is
quite a wide miss.
How do you keep this job, dear man,
if you thunder so?
Surely surprise be more appropriate
than to have your 'clients' know!
Closer and closer approaching.
I could tell how far,
if I listened real careful, ear to door,
you unlucky un-star!
Unlucky, why? well you may ask
and soon find out
This 'client' is well prepared for visits.
Better than you, no doubt.
Ah, so you're capable of silence
it's a relief indeed.
Dealing with total incompetence,
hardly a noble deed.
Is that you picking the lock, good sir,
or sounding the alarm?
You may as well take your time with it.
No sense rushing into harm.
Meanwhile my cane swings up and ready,
quite a greeting you'll get,
One tumbles down ; six more to go
for a night you won't forget!

The Divide

We of a comfort-cushioned world
what do we know
of suffering?
Sailing through this world
with puffed-up winds
at our backs.
Stopping often along the way
in senseless futile
dithering
In want, though we have
so much the world
around us lacks.
How much importance in our minds
our little worries
of day to day
And even hints of discomfort
squeeze out roars
and tears
But opening those closeted eyes we'll see
a world brimming
with dismay
Ever newer twists of the rack
awaiting those
whose fears
are not quite as muffled as ours
not quite as
out of sight
Real, as real as any plaything we may
be amused by for
a passing thought
Real as the garden that is our existence
and not far way
hidden from light
Not worthy, it seems, of a single glance
though in our face
we heed it not
Barely visible, not in the brilliance
of life that blinds
us to all
that is not shared skin to skin
with us by those
smothering
in the smog of our comforts and greed,
choking breaths,
soon will fall.
Ignore if we must, but think twice
before lamenting
our "suffering"

is bliss

Events, incidents all around, newer new
hidden world corners fewer few
time flows on and on, so to me
for you I do not know, it may not be
'tis a river running, running river
with chains iron-wrought
sweeping me, where?
wish to know...
I do not, I do not
Shadows in the know drifting past
chatter-chit in emptiness vast
Utter this, meaning that all the while
The spoken word indeed is.. versatile
what do they say? and why?
Perhaps I ought,
but wish to know...
I do not, I do not
So much to see, so much to be
Disdain my raft in a heaving sea
of things, happenings
I wish I forgot
for wish to know...
I do not, I do not