myopia

Hello again, for lack of a better remark. I don’t know if it’s good to be back, a shadow cast on the regression-lover that I usually look to be, live to be. The occasion in itself is pretty welcome, the ambient is red and I’m wearing green – so much for coincidences.

All the same, I wrote this poem the day before yesterday.

wilted minds,

their tampered faces

whose creases hide

in ironed-out lines

they only help me draw a blank

and fill it up

with dust and sand;

and ‘what’s and ‘why’s

and ‘how’s and ‘now…’s

and second thoughts

sent voiced aloud…

it’s time to take my glasses off.

Appropriation is what I have been indulging in, lately. Flagpoles planted on places that come my way and not exactly relying on ventures to give me a newfound name. Same goes with ‘Myopia’. Kind of like how Clapton explains ‘Crossroads’, how Slash would boast about a no-brainer ‘Sweet Child of Mine’. This just happened.

And I have nothing more to say in this regard.