At violent peace....

(1)
The reality seems choked,
full to the brim -
trying to spill out of the beams -
already sprawling with the trash,

the litter,
the abominable refuse.
Each time it tries to ooze out,
the lid is shut -
tight and final,

as if incumbent to stifle.

Each passing day

submits layers of peels.

In the already stuffed bins.

Meanwhile,
reality gasps -
for a whiff of fresh breath in fresh air.
Reality struggles,
hard to survive -
living is out of question now.

Still reality continues
to live on hope -
of a passionately faded dream.

Sometimes even that hope deludes.
It scuttles away -
like birds who fly from their perch,
at the onset of dusk.

All the while i wonder -
Will reality ever be real?
Will it ever dare come out -
without being stuffed in again?
Till then shall i wait -
just wait?

With ironed hands and steeled eyes?


(2)


The hourglass stands empty -
drained and clean.

No speck of grain inhabits the vessel.
It stands empty -
carrying a void,

a disturbed ennui.

The hour glass grins-
right to my face,
laying bare its invisible teeth.
They are set in a void.

So the hourglass stands -
empty and void.
Unable to resound the echoes.
It stands -
absolutely empty.


(3)
The waves broke
with ferocious intensity

they crumbled -
on the hard, rocky surface.

The waves exploded.

The rock stands
as if untouched, unaware
of the sheer force
of the exploding, gnawing, clawing waves.
Its solid body
against the changing waves.

The rock stands -
heroic and grounded.

That body has ripples
This body definitions
That body spread and ejected
This body accepted then rejected
The form and the action coalesced -
all at the same time.

The waves sought identification.
The rocks seek none.
The waves broke on the rocks
and identified themselves.

The rock stands
self-contained,

self-referential,
self identified.