Tag Archives: obsession

PRONE TO WANDER

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Some say rain settles the scattering heart
Some argue it enrages the wandering

The rains have started and things are as they should be
The floods have come for my roof which was built to last
After which they reach for my soul which was meant to stay
I thought I was lost in a sweet dream
Not knowing the showers are from an actual leaking roof
In the midnight I wake
Lightning lights my flooded room

Oh darn!

I don’t try to light the candle with my wet matches
I don’t reach for my rechargeable lamp
Which of course is dead
Thankful electricity is long gone
And I don’t have to step into a flood of shocks

They say rain enrages the wandering heart.

(Intermission…)

I have never built a home to last
I know I am always set to move with the next turn of the season
I don’t spend two seasons in one place
I don’t settle down and take roots
In friends and jobs and titles and neighbourhoods
I don’t plan for that future
I don’t carry a rope with me to tie myself down to anyone with
I don’t even carry a printer to print certificates and garner awards

The heart is not wild or rebellious
It is just prone to wander

It finds discomfort in calmness and weakness in stability
So I take a sweet flower with me wherever I go
To give those around who would be close to me
And whilst they see it as a pleasant gesture
I am watching for when the flower-fade begins
As a timer for my departure

People kid themselves
Don’t human physiology and psychology teach one thing
All are in constant state of activity
Even in the depth of that most restful sleep
The body is still active
Only dead things settle down

It is not deliberate
Things have just come to be the way they are
Hairs are always on end
Sleeping with eyes wide open
Hands always reached out
Feet always itching to move

Till the day I grew tired of it
And finally decided to make a home

Well now, here’s back to the start and end of the story

Settled finally in my home
At the start of the rainy season
Which is always a reminder to count
The many showers of blessings in my short life
The rain tears through my roof
In the middle of this night
I wake up in the middle of my house
The room dark and flooded
Full of possessions and loved ones
Grab that bag I kept in the corner of the wardrobe
And in 5 seconds I’m out the house
Only my boxers on
Not even stopping to check
If everyone else is alive in the flooded space
Sling my bag over my broad thickened shoulders
And leap through the window of the upper bedroom
My bare feet making no sound on the floor below
In the middle of the stormy rain
In the middle of the night

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My bag containing the two ONLY possessions
My wandering heart
And a beautiful rose
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BACKGROUND: “Quiet times” by Dido Armstrong playing in the background; and I echo “It’s hard enough to see the world as it is, and hold on anything”.

“Caution: what cynicism you may accuse me of is what you humanity has shown me. I am just a mirror; and my writings are not my own.” -JANISH

Mankind has done it again. The heart is by far more unpredictable than the weather. I am amazed afresh at how we behave. No, I have not seen it all! I have seen a lot, and I should be used to how our minds dance; but it amazes me afresh with some sparks of ingenuity. And I am left asking, fallen on the dancefloor, “how did you do that?” It does not follow any rule of love or reason. It does not even follow itself. It just wanders… drifts… fluctuates… dissociates….

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On little soul games: affections

Heart

Heart (Photo credit: mozzercork)

It hurts and you know it
You tickle my emotions
And my heart is sore
You string my thoughts along
And my soles are worn out
You play on my psyche
And I am tired
Does it give you any pleasure
To hear me admit it
That, even though I regard myself highly
You are far better than I am
You know the limits of my abilities
Intelligence, emotions, will power
Does it give you any pleasure
To hear me admit it
Because it boosts your ego
Or because it crushes mine
Yes, I can’t play along for too long
And since you likely knew
I would come to this breaking point
Why did you start this at all
To convince yourself you really could
Or to convince me you are all that
You taunt me everywhere I turn
I hear songs and my head swims
I see people and I only recognise your face
I know I am having a psychotic breakdown
Or how do I smell your fragrance
Even whilst in the loo
Through the day I dream
Through the night, of course…

Yet I can’t say I am in love with you.

Deepest Desires

Erythrocebus patas in San Francisco Zoo

Two days later…
Enchanted Primate (in a calm mood): Bro, do you know the first thoughts that came to your mind after your birth?
Enchanted Writer (slightly puzzled, but also a bit light-hearted from the evening breeze): Uh, I do not know for sure.

Enchanted Primate (in a calm mood): Bro, what of your very last thoughts before passing out in sleep last night?

Enchanted Writer (appeared lost in thought for a while, brows furrowed, right hand supporting chin): Err, bro, the thoughts became fuzzy as sleep grazed in, but I remember thinking about how delicious dinner was.

Enchanted Primate (in a solemn mood): Bro, two nights ago as you were gathering sticks for the fire to roast the termites for our dinner, you accidentally tampered with a mamba’s tail. What were your last thoughts as the mamba about sank its fangs into your nose, before I knocked it off your face?

Enchanted Writer (chest heaving, eyes unblinking, left hand supporting chin): Hmm, I thought about how I was going to miss the fat termites waiting to be roasted for dinner. And I should say thanks again for saving my head there.

Enchanted Primate (nods in acknowledgement of the writer’s gratitude): One of your own species, a Great One I heard, once said that: your deepest thoughts and mind’s preoccupation will be on what/where you consider most important. Your heart is where your treasure is.
What do you make of that?

Then the monkey lets go of the branch he was holding onto, leaps jauntily along the shore to the other side where the party animals are raving, leaving the writer sitting on the branch of their tree house,
Looking steadily out at the beachy summer-sunsetty horizon,
Head tilted to the right,
Chin supported by the right hand,
Breathing slightly heavily,
Obviously lost in thought.
Whilst the monkey raves on with the rest of the animals,
On the other side of the shore.
And happy termites swarm the dusky space.