The Mundane Artist

Long time ago,   When the oceans were of a safe level, When the greenness of the trees overshadowed the concrete of the buildings,  When the air we breathed was, in fact, air we breathed and not a toxic mixture of many,  There lived a trickster who was famous for one of his many tricks.  Lovingly referred to as Mr Trick,  He preferred a name that did a one above, Trick-Master.  He lived under a grassy hill,  Away from most of the population,  But his jovial self could not stay away from the crowd for long;  Because as night fell, His legs did, too; his hands tinkled, for  The result of his daily trick lit a fire in him such that it must, it should, be satiated immediately.  Every evening he would take a walk around the market, People would greet him, scream a warning, “Mr Trick is here!” And hide, they would, but only from his gaze.  His gaze held the power of the trick.  Look at them directly and lo!...

under my feet the crunch of snow   5 degrees or so  The lights are getting brighter or  My eyes are getting warmer  It was brief  Subtle  Did it even occur?  There is no evidence except  The feeling of warmth in my body while I’m  Surrounded by the coldest of  Nights  In my town  . You were like wine  From the moment you touched my  Lips  And then swished into my mouth  Gulped you down like  I was separating the alcohol One by one  And it settled in my stomach  Like a toxic hug that  Shouldn’t be there  And you stayed  For a night and  Disappeared like we didn’t exist  .  The evidence of your being is little  But the feeling of your existence is significant  I’m back home now sitting in front of  The fire  Trying to finish this  Poem  But I’m so cold

Dark blanket shrouds over me Highlighted with subtle lighting; The hubbub of the city. The diamonds shine, Multiply, When I look up with my naked eye. My neck strains As it tries to catch the trail Of the diamonds. Soon I am on the ground Laughing at my misery Of inflexibility. The boisterousness that we throw around About how the intelligent beings we are, And we are But are we as significant As we deem ourselves to be? We are but the same; All homo sapiens aside And all others on another side. We are a side of the same coin. Our probability has been higher; We have been lucky. It’s only a matter of time For the coin To end on the side We exist. 

i sit at my window sill on an early rainy morning.  i stare down at my empty cup filled with hot, steaming tea priorly i am hypnotised.  i can hear the raindrops fall on my roof i can feel the presence  of the sheltered birds  i am hypnotised.   i look up from my stupor  to fall into another  the fairy lights on my neighbour's window  i am hypnotised.  my eyes shift to  the next movement  the swaying of trees  in unity  i am hypnotised.  the sound of thunder, a flash of lightning the earth tries to  shake me out of my stupor i am hypnotised.  i sit with the cup still in my hand  i sit next to  a broken dream  i am hypnotised.