Grave it his all

The closing lodestone is, unfortunately, exactly as advertised
We were hoping for some tumbling anomaly
Perhaps a feather wafting or a grain sinking
It could represent the end of fall
The end of all

We may have whispered hard
Who knows: Back in '86
Dose: The paper-mate wisdom afforded by forged oranges
Trace: Purely a northern distraction
This too, out of edge of eye, reminiscent

A smile will, of course, wash this all away
A miner is a stranger
A strange pilgrim aside a pig
A grade cravings all too busy for laughter mixing
A!

Basement lodgings paste rubber satchel
The trunk of swollen historical neverminds
We as an alternative to hiding
Gets a fetching drove from time's merchant
Long overdue, the socks are wet

I'd like to zoom in a little further
If you'll indulge my footprints
Haven from the outboard risks
Miles of twitching
Only standing still ask visuals

This draft is borne of a liking
A glance of indifference only in snapshot
Dodging frightened light
Finding mist
And a fine layer of dust to authenticate

Might we slash again
Might we repeat for it's own sake
May I dote until red dawn
May I please have another
Sure comes an answer from the flame

MistereR's Neighbourhood

On the trolley ride back home,
as you swim backwards past all the memories
leading back into your childhood,
you ask yourself if you want to return.

Regressive or courageous?
Security of the past or in the possibilities of the future?
Do you strike gold in the darkness and the red hills?
or do you plumb the familiar ponds of youth...

Three people walked into three different rooms at three points in time.

I
He swayed into the room,
Reeking of madeira and already days old attar,
“Sometimes anger is the only currency that people understand.”

II
Out by the coffin of the old lady
He looked upon her unfeeling face,
“…and I’ll be too dead to care if eternity holds my name…”

III
His heart sank upon achieving resolution,
And the infatuation let loose its grip upon his mind,
“I cannot fool myself that it will not return, but I shall remember this moment.”

I was sitting on the bus,
with reality crashing in on my mind,
clamor both internal and external,
feeling slightly light-headed and separate from the world,
when the shouting kids and traffic noise receded for a second
and a voice called out clearly, vaguely resembling my mother:
"Prashant, wake up."

Not yet.