Thoughts try to find ground in the head
They find quicksand instead
They strive for some tangible form
To fit in some societal norm

But experiences of the past
Make the confusion last
They scatter like leaves in the wind
Thousands of forms burst and rescind –

It’s also a miasma of feeling
A jealous concealing
Of the brain’s inability to choose
And the heart’s inability to lose –

That feeling coalesces with thought
The only form that’s brought
Is a hurricane of emotion
Atop an intellectual ocean.

Circles of wind driving through grey
Like feelings that won’t stay
In circles of vapour they go
Churning everything in their flow –

The waters beneath trying to reason
Seems sadly like treason
Within their darkest depths they know
They will forever battle so –

The wind of thought shall never ease
Over vast emotional seas
None can understand completely
This unstructured philosophy

That finding for thought an outline
That tagging an emotional sign
That this itself is foolishness
That form in essence is formless


Going Away

There are all kinds of words
That many people say;
But these are the words that squeeze my heart:
“Goodbye, I am going away.”

For with them comes a bittersweet feeling
That those who love undergo;
And sometimes smiles are caught
Within many a tear’s undertow.

As you step out to venture
And learn and see and sense,
There is always the hope for you
To live a new experience.

But, with it, there are hearts that ache
To see you leave this shore;
And a hope that pervades a home
That you shall return to its door.

So, on this trip, that you make,
To see the wide world and learn,
Remember, that there are hearts you leave behind,
That are waiting for your return.

7 Sept

(written for a friend who is going abroad to study)

Panic Attack

Disintegration of thought,
Like a whirlwind upon mist.
Destiny grows stark and vaguer.
It’s something despair kissed.
The world shrinks to a point of light,
In an eddy of life’s utter doom;
Panic raises its terrible wings –
The blame lies ultimately on whom?
Thought has shattered,
Pinioned under those terrible wings;
Destiny and despair coalesce,
Turning into demonic things.
They rip, shred, rape every molecule
That prods an upturned lip;
While the last of light dies,
As panic breathes in its last sip.
The wind rattles sanity.
It is rattling away still…
Bare eyes wide, wide in the dark –
Now it is just the question of Will.

4th April 2009