My head falls back-
through a cloud,
as darkness migrates across the border
that separates the state of my mind, settling
down for another night.
I am a castaway;
marooned on the shores
of my unconscious world
where the sun lies dormant.
waves begin to roll like a camera,
and images develop with speed
shooting out from nowhere;
(but stored somewhere).
I scroll through abstract stories, that stem from
the banks of my memories
similar to a pop-up book, however colours are diluted
to a shade of monochrome
with no script.
Blurry scenes unfold, rich in peculiarity-
pictures are bountiful with such bizarre tales,
although many visions touch boundaries of clarity
with a vivid texture of reality
especially unexpected guests who rummage
around in the archives
showing their faces..
..even former partners, can be seen snapping away
the feeling can be so profound. Evocative in nature, with
sensations that ripen, with vigour.
Often I’ll tumble through the air,
feeling a draught of realness-
my pulse races faster than a runaway train
carrying my heart as cargo.
There is this crisp rawness to this piece — like fried bitter gourd — and many of us have felt this feeling described by the poet sometime in our lives, and it is raw, bitter, and unpleasant but we still need to chew on this feeling whenever it decides to stay with us.
I personally loved certain descriptions and imagery — castaway on shores, waves rolling like a camera, memories displayed like pop-up books, images of former partners — such raw expressions. And the poem kept getting better and better as I moved on towards the end, with perfect words to describe the feeling of being lost as one is falling from great heights, and wishing to wake up to all of it as if it was just a bad dream. But it isn't, is it?