Randomly Random

Night is dispensing its last bit of peace to the humanoids that are jutting in and out of dreams and solitary darkness that prevails and persists behind the semi wet eyes soaked in slumber. The silence that wraps this vague, apparently dead-like state is soothing yet in an obscure way haunting, for it brings back all that was silent during the day, all that was silent throughout. Within the confines of my mind, over weeks on end, tirelessly, I’ve constructed many verses, all conceived out of the sperms of realization, that falls from nowhere, getting interspersed with life, lived in slices.

It’s the relentless questioning of me to I, to seek the answers, perhaps locked in the universe. There is a focus, which is weaved in to the yarns of reality, perhaps.
There is a world, mystically evasive, seeming small on the maps, yet beyond my reach.
Then there is a survival, whose only aim is to survive further.
To which there is a thought, growing under the strain of a rationale.
There is also a vision, which tries to see a horizon, which is perhaps beyond credence.
There is a looming fear, surging and re surfacing, of loosing my belonging, of loosing my orgasm to write, of losing the orgy of imagination, of loosing the track of time.
I wish I had some papyrus and a feather dipped in ink, would have inscribed on it, my yearning to learn, to read, to do, to live.
With desires, I wish not to die, for I will linger painfully, clad soulfully, while my body will suffer its last on the pyre.