Fragments of the Quiet Mind

Stubborn muse crushing the silence, Ostracizing a poets choice for subsidence. Rummaging within deeply settled thoughts, Restoring the pain from a fight long lost. Yearning for peace in Moira’s cruel world, But tranquility is nothing but an illusion hurled. Under the comfort of a memory he cowers, Tacitly tending to a wounded promise of ‘forever’. Deadly poison drank at a hidden park of bliss, Arduous passions trapped in a labyrinthine abyss. Requiems from a pink flying unicorn dinosaur, Nestled memory of a silvery moon restored. Irritating Cheshire re-creating a suspended story plot, Making the poet think of that tiny green dot. Macrocosmic tel-pad retention topped with coffee, Ineffable pancakes and Sapio-sexuality… Synchronicity ascertained on an abandoned soul tree, Stellar contingency, and the usual “Stop saying sorry!”, (^__^) Irrational belief in the numbers 12 and 7, Never ending shouts to CB in heaven. Golden snails and metal butterfly wings, Yellow caterpillars, ...

Horizon darkened by clouds, majestically hovering high as it hides the darkness of outer space. I see the sad eyes of eternity looking back at me with consolation, as if she feels my grief. Living in an utterly void existence for the past couple of months without doing anything or saying anything is starting to backfire. I feel succumbed to the painful liquid memories of yesterday. Trying to reach for that last drop of hope as I am trying to steal an elixir from the heavens, but how can one mortal manipulate the gods? In my spot I see the vicious whiplash of the misty wind as it shakes my garden. The trembling lightning looks like strobe lights from the sky dancing in an overture to a long orchestra of nothing but loud reverberations and crashes. They are like kids, playfully jumping from one cloud to another. I am seduced with the scene as I try so hard to capture one bolt released from Zeus’ majestic hand with my phone cam. My thoughts are drowning with the rain as my voice is ove...

Petrichor is the scent of rain on dry earth, or the scent of dust after rain. The word is constructed from Greek, petros, meaning stone + ichor, the fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology. It is defined as "the distinctive scent which accompanies the first rain after a long warm dry spell". Last night I made my plan to run early in the morning. I woke up at 4 am to hear the beautiful sound of the rain. Since my work starts at 4pm (12 hours to do anything I want to do) I decided to do my routine, some push ups, boil water, make coffee, get my laptop, light a cigarette and sit on the porch.  I was enjoying the serenity of the rain and each drop sounded like someone is playing some notes in his piano. Since I live in a weird place where your nearest neighbor is half a kilometer away, I can’t hear anything except the melody that the rain was playing. I just sat there relishing and enjoying every second of the moment. Petrichor, I remember that word. F...