2 Nov 2004
Echoes in the Darkness
the off-white blankness beckons again
inviting the smoothened flow of pen
neat, lined, single-ruled sheets
waiting to absorb vacuous troubled state
frantic words,
poured out,
trip over themselves
scratch against the paper
in their haste to escape
from suffocating, constricting mind-brain
but it's been done
too many times
i guess i am immune to the cure
the unburdening on paper fails to soothe
the serenity i crave
remains imprisoned somewhere
behind the rib-cage
screaming fultilely, echoing the darkness.
-- written just now.
While I was writing this, I had the image of my mind being a closed place with pitch-black darkness, and my thoughts shimmering like ghosts in there... surrounding me, mocking me.
-- I read it over objectively and realised how totally depressing it is. But I cannot stop the craziness. It's like the fascinating absorption I had for staring at Veerappan's morbid bullet-hole-in-the-head photo on the front pages. Sometimes the mind is a sick place.
Current Music: A dog howling outside, low full-throated howls
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