A biker’s week

To trace this trail as does a biker’s heart,

the end must be seen just as the start.

In some lost thought

and in a forgotten feeling ,

a few good memories,

and a faint moon

in the corner of the eye,

when the sky is painted

in blue and black.

trust that you’ll get there,

no matter what.

A reason, then

To perhaps, smile

At a passing stranger,

Share a story with another

Who listens,

A drifter, perhaps.

Then gather a few

stories of your own

divulge in the road,

in the cracks

and the street lights,

disappearing at a distance,

both of them.

And when the sun appears

After too long a night,

We shall never sleep again

The day shall be

Longer than ever.

The day that was never

Then maybe a hint of shade

When the heat

Gets too much to bear.

A place to keep,

Maybe someone

To lend your warm skin.

And when the evening falls again,

A place to rest your body,

A mate to rest your head,

And a heart to rest your soul,

And lay awake

Beneath the new born stars

Then beneath the glinting moon

Ride just the same

Let your thoughts be tidal

And rise

And fall

In someone’s gravity

In the calm, gather

Your strength and courage.

But in your heart, keep

A few good memories

The end and the start

Just the same.

And then keep

The same old belief -

That you’ll get there

No matter what

There’s nothing else you need

And no one else you desire.

Vacuum Trail – A War for Survival

A gun was fired. The shot swivelled about its axis immersed completely in the quiet surroundings. It pierced thorough the air with no one around, straight towards the target. The entry was docile, yet insidious. The exit would, however was explicitly frivolous. It left a void at the end, a profound burst – a vacuum to be filled by nothing.

I was standing here, waiting impatiently at this end, ready to embrace the inevitable – to pay my one debt to the creator – my life back to him.

But in this unreasonable moment the bullet fell to its fate. Upon the creation of this void, and the burst, it fell to the ground right in front of me. So I didn’t die. I’m very much alive. But in this vacuum, I cannot breathe, and breathless, I cannot survive. 

This is not a war for victory. This is a lost battlefield, a massacre in itself. We do not need warriors. We need survivors.

You know what happens in the final moments of a warrior’s self obligated deliverance.  The survival instinct kicks in, and distorts everything.

I understand that the vacuum, this void, this nothing – this no thing can be transformed into something.

What we need to do is pull the trigger once again – fire once again into the void – now in the opposite direction.

The turbulence shall strike again. The bullet, pulling the air behind and pushing into the void, must close it. The void may succumb and collapse on itself, or it may widen and leave still less space and air to breathe.

This is a risk you must take – the choice between an immortal life and a lifeless death. Go, fire, I say. 

All the wars that we’ve won, and all that we lost were fought for someone else, like a mercenary who knows only his fidelity to the king. But this is no ordinary war. This is a war for survival. This is war for yourself, and no one other than you can defeat you.  This does not need a warrior. This needs a survivor.

Decelerate – Prelude to War

The fluid in his ears accelerated. He stumbled and his balance shifted forward. And suddenly, he was aware that he was about to fall, and that he was standing on the edge only emphasized the sensation.

The world stood on the tip of a pin, on one decision – to step off the ledge, for which there was no reason good enough, or to let himself fall. Fate could have decided this for him, or perhaps chance would have taken play. For he had chosen not to decide, he had made a decision to leave it to a greater power than himself. 

But for some unreasonable reason, like an unforeseen and yet serendipitous shift in the stars, called out his saviour. 

This call shrivelled through the empty space faster than the speed of sound. And in this moment, that this call strikes a sharper wave in the ear fluids, the fall still remains, but the sensation in no more.

It is easier to make choices with an unafraid mind. Step back. Now!

The Pirate Island (aka I-M-Pulse)

The ship had no breaks,

The sea twitchy

And the sky was blind

We sailed by

The island of hope,

But didn’t stay.

An invisible force pushed

Perhaps the sea pulled

Us away at noon.

We fumbled and fell, and rose,

The ship drenched and drowned

It touched the bottom,

But didn’t stay

The ship was scared,

We were afraid.

You won’t know the difference.

We sailed by

The island of fear,

But didn’t stay

And then came love

We swivelled about

Saw the island of pride

With no invisible field.

We took a slim halt,

But didn’t stay

We were squandered, looking

For the pirate island.

It would have them all,

They told us. Looking,

Like a pulse, consumed

By the idea of stability

Little did we know

There was no pirate island

Wasted and confused, we

Sailed through the ocean

Like a wave, a pulse

Never ending, never staying

It was the ocean

That had them all

Like a vast Pandora’s box

That unveiled a blinding horror

In our faces – despair.

Past that nothing was visible.

Death of the day

I had half the day left in front of me. Half of the day had passed, and I was half dead.

I discovered this profound moment when I desperately tried to focus on something else, something other than the shit in life. This moment was infinite.

Hours later I realized that there was no something else, nothing else. By then the day had ended and so had I.

I fell. I fell with nothing to fall back on. And I kept falling.

I knew the truth. Everyone falls. It's not important to keep rising. What matters is to have something to fall back on.

I am angry in my mind, dead in my bones, burning in my heart, burnt in my soul, losing in my destination, lost in my way.

Dead.

Ready to be born again, to die again, to be born again, only to die again.

What's the point?