Have been having a face-off with sleep for a while. Lids don’t ache, eyes just blink at their normal pace, not one dragged moment where I'm lulled by some passing whiff that's remotely like my warm bed, musty sheets, rubbed in with my own unique smell. Well, I’ve tried reading the most slow paced book but nevertheless lovely -Far from the madding crowd. I don’t believe in torturing myself to sleep by those maniacal babbles…have a few of those. Was part of syllabus…what ta do?
What better company than the worldwide web for an insomniac who’s quite happy with the affliction. Read blogs, surfed, discovered how much I don’t know, made comparisons, put me under a magnifying glass, scrutinized my recesses, knocked on them, some of them half filled and most of them don’t exist even and then there are the larvae of dreams, of numerous DIYs discarded, blooming and stagnating in the fetid tropical heat of marsh. Sweet smell of stink. Hey that’s fodder. That’s good. Fuchsia sprout from the crevices. A wreath. Hemmed in by cranium.
I know I know what I know and I happen to be staring at a two-way mirror…also. Well, right now I feel like I do know ‘my’ music. So been skimming through modern poets…Bob Dylan, Gil Scott Heron. And well, here’s a poem by Langston Hughes. Avronea, you or I could have written this ya know. Bloody brilliant! Similar strains make me believe that it could have been you or me. Well, this is not pompous assertion. Just another way of saying the poem connects.
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Langston Hughes
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About Me
- arcane
- Immensely passionate about a whole bunch of things, utterly scatter brained, complication addict, conditioning-phobic, hobohemian in hiding, have pig-headed plans and am a bit of a cartoon who takes life very seriously
7 comments:
R you think I'm going thru a brain fetish phase? hmm?
Only you would leave a comment on your own blog that's not a reply to someone else's comment :-P
Self-suffiency rocks I guess :-P
I don't know abt brain fetish but I see what you mean about the poem. Either of us could have written it. I have thought of it. Sometimes the simplest words are what you need to say what you mean but they are often the most elusive...
Yeah that's what I was thinking...the theme and the vocabulary or choice of words sound like you. The rhythm they make sound like us. The style seems like mine...ending in Q marks.
Good thing v got Langston Hughes and the rest for those elusive moments I guess...but somewhere there's a lil yearning and there's a lil smugness that it's my story...too ;-)
n hey wat was i suposd to do...dint want ta talk abt fetish n mar my post (like now dat isn't already wonky) :-p
wonky? is that ur new favourite word?
yep ;-) apart from ditzy n trundle n a few mo
gosh...i wanted to post a graphical comment..as in upload an image..but apparently its not possible :(
Tell u wat...Y dont u mail it to me n i'll upload it onto de blog
;-) konjam alpi but dat ok...i am like dis vonly
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