They call me imbalanced…

As I sit defiant but silent,
Rant soft at the immodest,
Discard my real true self,
Me, a human on market shelf,
I stare at brown, tall, hills,
At sympathetic sparrows on sills,
Like them, I seek profound solace,
In some mystic evasive peace,
Beyond the lagged frustration,
Of unwound, fangless, passion,
Seeking rainbows in cloudless skies,
Breathe kiln air through vaporous flues,
Which relaxes my bones quite dry,
To recall what I learnt, I try.

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As I see you…

In your eyes, a thousand stars ,
From your blue veined body a billion flares
A milliard sparks of love the sky blazing
Each of the horizons lightning, dazzling,
Thunderbolts, charged realization dawning
A multitude of hopes, in me awakening.

Why I write (2)

The Silence of a bare auditorium.

I stand at the lectern prepared-
None to listen, all departed.

To the dim lit, cold corridor-
In hushed tones to ill whisper.

Empty egos network for future-
On nothingness they conjecture.

Intruders: ripples devoid of depth-
Handshakes distant, smiles in stealth.

Brags murmur, rehashed themes-
Usurpers to fame in meshed games.

I withdraw with a sigh, to write.