LiE!

Ah! The wake up call from dream...I just saw you my dream. We were running, and I was out of breath, and said 'I think I am going to stop' in reply you told me, "No! Don't stop! Everyone stops when something is about to happen." One will never know what will happen if that person just stops because the limit was coming to conclusion. Yet, we kept on running and speaking but all of the sudden I heard the buzzer of my phone, I ignore the sound to keep my eyes closed so I may not loose the dream, but then it keeps on ringing. I cannot fight my senses anymore, so I go with the urge to open the eyes a little and turn off the phone and go back my world of dreams. But as I lay back to my pillows, I fight my urges, squint with my eyes, jog my senses, yet there it disappeared for long. Now I am left to wonder, what might the conclusion be. I am always trying to do things and will leave me with feeling that I did not miss out, but I realized that there are some things I cannot do or change as much as I try. There are some things I do unintentionally, but then I ask myself why must I have the encouragement of will to do such thing? But then is it infatuation of some person who I crave? I have had become one of the masses of men that exist in restless faith of experience of being a fool for love. I am charily eager with convincing lure to assume clearly and act sanely yet sinking my mental capability with puns stirred by desires. I hear a expression that is of your name or of relation; or intonation of your voice or giggle; or the gaze of tenderness; or a mocking remark—yet every incident seem to be linked to your personal and surfaced persona leaving the soul with new intriguing meaning to savor each moment in fascination, and existing in expectation of the next drop of a line—for such unconsciously trying to impregnate the vision of new found understanding of love…now, these all sounds like poetry. Ah soothing poetry, yet what fault do you find in them? "A fault most serious, the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more? A bad lie! "I mean to think of it, when I clean myself properly, take note in my appearance and do all things to flaunt my good looks, it is the real me? I mean if I did not groom myself then I am not very pleasant too look at but with few changes and grooming I try to reach perfection, and get attention—then such am I the still me the person who was not groomed before? Then again when I say it is a lie do I say it as a deliberate lie, like "my dog ate the homework"? No, not exactly, I say it in a plausible confirmation of degree in lie. A lie that is has become noble, for example "if I am good, Santa will bring me present." Poetry is nothing but an inescapable element of the bewilderment about imitation, an imitation quarrels to be beaten by narrative art of words.