Life at Cross-Roads

There's no going forward, and there's no going backward, for it's not a regressive backward, it's not a forward-leap, either, for how do you know which is which, when can you ever claim to figure the coordinates of any point in infinity? There is no path because the path e-merged from the whole. To be sure, all paths lead us there, but all paths had begun from there, so there's no mid-point limbo where you're stuck. And all those paths, they spilled in all directions, criss-crossing each other, overlapping each other, like strains of water sliding down fogged-up window, suddenly giving you glimpses into the other end.

Timelessness

The way we keep hoping to keep track of time (thank God there's time for it) by matching our clocks/watches with another's, or the community's clock towerc- Do you really think the inevitable back-and-forth jumps of a few nano seconds couldn't have shifted us a whole day, or weeks, years, millennia in time? Even that atomic clock with its precision will stop one day in submission to the timelessness of time.

Infinity

For science and art 

Are but two interpretations

Of the one infinity

Called the Universe.

I Imagined a Poem

Life is

Just as I'd

Declared it

In my scribblings.

[It is] precise to the extent 

Of the [now] most appealing and repulsive

Contours and intricacies,

Some overwrought with older etchings,

Made darker by attempts 

At rubbing them out- 

Of where, pray?

[The eternal itch of perfecting the complete, you see.]

I'd dropped them 

Into a box called time

Shuffled into compartments 

Of past, present and future.

We mistake dreams for reality.

And then

Do you mistake imagination for imagination nowadays?

In your sleepwa(l)king consciousness?

The weaved hollow of Empiricism,

The added undulations of space and duration.

Somewhere, one's interpretations

Sewed into another's visualizations

Vis-a-vis

The maze you charted for yourself

To be/get lost

Where all that has existed yet,

Is the reality of the imaginary.

Knowing there would arrive a juncture

When you would be breathing

Into a kaleidoscope of chaos

Waiting to wade into patterned perfection, 

Eventually, when; Alas! 

You fell for time, again, time and again!

And shifted to the infested realm 

Of hackneyed manifestations.

As the universe thrusts that sheet of paper

On to the pen in my hand,

In my quest to trace and quench 

The voices sketched somewhere

In the white void of the sheet,

As I pen verses of salt & pepper.

P.S. Reality gets as real as the illusions we create. Reality is a vulnerable entity that never existed. Imagination is mistaken for unreality, were that a legit term, to explain the context better.

My Verse to the Universe

The innermost core of my being
Bound to your outermost expanse by threads unseen.
Searching you, in garbs of space and time I trot
Pining, clinging to my sole company, of thoughts.
Light has forever cast its shadows, 
Playing old tricks.
While sounds deafen, 
The silences continue to prick. [shriek]

You are the shrine of the divine.
An abstract design, a definite sign.
I'm the echo of your origin,
We're paramours of a different kind.

The how, what and the why
Do not matter so much
As the Now, and you being firmly in sight.
As I wake now from slumber,
Cradled in your infinitude;
My soul seeks you, 
I begin to see your idiosyncrasies and your pulchritude.

We're like coincidences.
Two sides of a coin, connected.  
Deep down, I have known you ever since,
This is a tryst, not a discovery awaited.

I chance upon as many mysteries and finds,
Each time Your consciousness is twined with mine.
Neither is the seeker here, nor is one the giver.
There was never a 'you' and an 'I'.

I know it isn't just me 
Trying to reach out, night after day.
It's you order-ing fanciful twists and turns
Bringing to an eventual fruition, to eons of wait.

Space and time couldn't ever separate 
You from me,
For those had been this far my minds' illusion.
I continue to look for you in your vast presences,
Till we unite in the nest of our reverberations.