The Battlefield

We are preparing a dice-game

Of aligning and troubled forces,

Of tension, density and range;

To play not with fire, but with heat,

Or dare I say, the consequence of  grit

On order, vortex, turbulence and pits.

A thousand epics rise and fall

In each carefully crafted battlefield;

At the end there is but one mighty victor

An eternal song, an all-absorbing giant -

The one that has seen it all, and breathed;

The one, indifferent to size; hydrodynamic. 

 

Here we are, with blood and the battlefield;

Pages are coming back to life, and so is the ink.

Thoughts

What are thoughts, if not a few ions here and there?

Are they potent or does each succumb to a critical pressure?

A pull, an equilibrium of sorts, and the end of the line -

I wonder whether a thought in vacuum could ever survive!

In between, what lies still or dances to a rhythm,

Exists nonetheless, and beyond the circling time.

What happens to thoughts when we move to the other side?

 Do they only disintegrate or degrade into meaninglessness?

Or do they save themselves, like automated engines

To be rescued in time? But by whom if we have moved ourselves?

Does each thought aim for a response? 

Or are some of them free to propagate?

I used to think that the universe is indifferent

But, it's not, rather it only accommodates.

There might not be a grand plan, or architecture

The universe quietly expands, nevertheless.

What if thoughts really are massive fields - and

What we see, think and seek, are all in sync?

I refuse to label the unknown as merely dark;

I would rather paint it pure and serene, in ink.

The invisible one

The wild horse of imagination; 

I don't know the colour of its skin,

I've heard it comes to us, on its whim

Apparently, when we're actively seeking;

A rider, the horse seeks, proud and serene

To carry on its back, through the forest,

Over the mountains, along the river banks

To a grassland, of freedom and rushing winds.

If it were indeed to come, where would you be?

Would you search for reins, or set yourself free?

Amo(u)rphous lives

I wish there were mysteries in the obvious

And sense refrained from making sense;

I wish patterns didn't succumb to laws,

But intersected their own evolution - like us.

Or rather, as we used to do

Before it all came crashing down,

And turned amorphous.

Apply your quench, bring out the toolbox,

Make your measurements 

For we have aged, like broken things do.

What of this new discovery, I wonder!

Magnets, frozen like forgotten melodies 

Disorder, wavelengths and relaxation -

Nothing that I haven't heard of, or ignored.

And yet, through a series of holocausts 

Love and life find a way; a common way.

Tomorrow, we dive deeper; into the madness 

Of memories and promises; stability and vortices 

To seek further, to seek nothingness 

To answer 

Unwarranted self doubts and the same grievances.

To tomorrow, we toast; To tomorrow, we pray 

Tomorrow never comes but you have, today.