my imagination

An array of scenes, objects and worlds
Transcending light and time, in and out
Of the past, present and the future
As shadows, pictures, and then reality
Images created, cracked and changed
The footprints of a causal theory manifest

To visualize the unseen, beneath dreams
Encompassing forms and formless sketches
Predicting a new world to augment the old
A destination, I have not, but a will to be
Celebrating uncensored self-expressiveness
Breastfed by my attitude, evolving from it

Imagination, a gem that colours the mind
An inspired thought, filled with all
Possibilities, unreasonably unrealistic dreams
It gives me wings to fly over boundless lands
Therein, my world view is perceived
A new found job, a co-creator with God

My imagination, a self protective apparatus
Constantly churning visions and fantasies
That captures and contains life – optimism
Living my tomorrow in an illusionary mode
To suit me, my tastes and preferences
Nurtured and with a tendency to grow

My imagination, idealism versus realism
One proposes and the other disposes
A homely aphorism and a fabled system
Adjacent tenants, a contest of equals
Images and depictions, issues and events
Manifested in a cherished dream, I relish

perceptions

Perception resides on an angular plateau,
Measured by its height and depth,
Of exposure to relationships and pieces,
In knowledge and experiences of life.

Like opinions, it differs with individuals,
Yet perception is stronger than truth,
As deceptive as a mirage, it’s the nucleus
Of emotions, which forges our attitudes.

Each of us is an island of thoughts;
Twisted in wavering philosophies,
Understanding ludicrously embedded–
In differing muses and layers of perspectives.

In such opulence, is diversity nurtured,
Ennobled to accommodate differences,
We dwell in slums and ruins of thoughts,
To wholesomely perceive an act as odd.

Perception, you pronounce judgements;
Prejudicing our thoughts and actions,
Taunting, insulting and criticizing others,
Are you not projecting your acts on us?

Perception, source of Einsten’s relativity;
Why triumph over the blunders of others?
When only Time determines substance,
Always, leaving in its trail, a slum of regrets.

being different

How much of my life is left?
A captivated man aging,
Adulterated acts and attitudes,
Differently, have I conducted myself.
Sometimes, I’m criticised for it,
Praise, I have gotten from some.
Why can’t I just be me?
Why do I have to be like everybody?

All I ever wanted; was to be me.
My thoughts, imaginings and ideas,
Stretched, to include tomorrow. Not
A future conceived by some architects?
Divided, by their hushed feelings;
Of whining from across the room.
Bent on recognising greatness,
I have mastered respect for normalcy.

A symphony of likes and dislikes,
Impregnates my heart and soul;
Every time I see, hear, taste, touch or feel,
Any deed or work or speech
Of any male, female, child or adult.
Analysis, approval, disapproval and censorship.
Satisfaction only shells in my approach,
Consider my way, a better option it is.

It’s hard admitting this facade,
Slighted, their ways and mine as well.
Like the noiseless breeze of last night,
With no air to spiral, dying before its birth,
Perfection despicably eludes us all.
Criticism, like sugar is tastier,
And unreliable as the menstrual cycle.
It seems, being me is the best definition.

Do it this way, the chorus sang.
Who’s way is that, if it’s not yours?
I’m keeping silent, for this–
An introduction divided,
Into reasons for doing it their way or mine;
Only time will give substance to one.
Thus, I dare to be different,
Like a gambler atop Mount Hope.