January 24, 09
Tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here.
We've rioted against the conformity,
Only to show we conform in fashion.
We've dipped stencils in oil and ink,
Only to hear that it has been written.
The only inspiration of anything new,
Is the dawn that mimicked the past,
Still seen and awed and applauded-
Until the sun turns into the same ash.
We've doodled and called it art,
Brought it into galleries and out.
We've said nothing trying to convey,
And our eyes have just gotten weak.
If we are making up colours we see,
Does it still count as we deem it sanity?
Does insanity only cross a distance?
A line that we will come to soon enough.
If tomorrow is gone and yesterday is here?
*
And we've all lived before,
And we all live again.
And we all will live again.
Monday, 2 February 2009
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2 comments:
Pitiless. Very much so. But let me ask you something. When you dip those stencils in ink to find that what you wanted to write has been written already, don't you try to change it? Write your own poems maybe, or maybe a destiny that would have seemed improbable otherwise.
Its possible. Its plausible.
If tomorrow is gone, and you are to live again, live as you would, without considering the other life.
Oh I do have faith another innovation will be thought up. I keep writing do I not? It was merely a topic floating through my mind.
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