Oh Really?

Reality bites, they say.

Unreality chews you, regurgitates you and spits you out onto the filthy pavement of despair, I say.

And there on the pavement you will lie. Until you stir yourself up and decide to slip off the pavement. It’s not easy, slipping. All you can do is ooze off drop by painful droplet, till you’re free.

And then, who knows what you might land up in. Into the gutters of oblivion that sweep you away into the yawning sea. Or into the chasms of truth, leaving you victim to thirst. Until you have no other reprieve but to drink the very poison that would destroy you.

For the doofus-ishly unperceptive, one soul on earth in particular has been oozing for a while now… For the perceptive, you already know or you have learnt not to care. Heh. Lucky you.

Delicate lilting notes

Perched upon a staff of unreality

Reach out to touch them

With fingers of veracity

Dragon breath upon your arm

(Mutilated left you are…)

The truth and you

Alone in a crowded place

Apart by a ways

But in essence connected as though standing face to face,

Draped in the shroud of silence.

As the winds of the past

Struggle to hurl it off.

Why should the silence pervade?

Then again...

What remains to be said?

(...And so another sceptic of poetry joins the ranks of the Un-Poets, who maintain that they don't enjoy writing poetry but still continue to churn out poems till they float upon their mind, waiting to be skimmed out and hurled at hapless unsuspecting readers such as yourself).