Perplexed

Days I have wasted
In contemplating
Thinking it over
Making sense of

Algorithms laugh at me
Pikes
Trees, homes
A whole gamut of things. But I am
Not as perplexed as I was -
Let's say back in my twenties

Dewdrops of culture
And playful age
And abundance
Bounce around me
In a maze of,
Rather
A string of sub-cultures

Sub-terranean seas
A sub kind of a social
Paradigm
Underneath,
Beneath everything

It's not that laborious
To gauge
If you were to, and
Preposterous as it may sound
You are never too far from it

Homes are warm, away from the
Winterian wrath
Restaurants bubble with people
Colour floats around
Dark of the night
Darkening further
Things with colour
Touch and melt-
All around.

--

Anant Dhavale

Outsider

Once you become
an outsider
you remain one

there is a certain degree of
being an outsider by choice involved here
(or not)

going back is always an option
to the circles and
the cracking hinges of
culture
alleys of age old notions
held tight

pieces of your own

in the faded

scarlet yonder

often though
you choose not to;
a certain vehemence
keeps telling you
you were born
an outsider

and then it matters even less


--

Anant Dhavale

Melancholia
Shreds of Sunlight
a brooding sigh

Insomnia

When you don’t sleep much

And work till long wee hours

They may say you have got Insomnia

Timid thing it is

This insomnia

As it makes you the lone wolf
devoid of a pack

Stark awake

Right now, all I can hear is

A refrigerator hum

And the silence

Bourbon has not brought me much comfort

May be the morning will.

Anant Dhavale

Restitution

These long walks – are partly the reason

Of my being sane

Kind of a restitution – you know, rebuilding

The bare, torn sinews

Tonight, I walk

Along a stony trail

Through the dark woods

I have heard it reaches a glorious mountain - distant, blue and green

Plaintive as I may sound,

believe me

this is my usual tone

and I am not necessarily sad

And the mountain,

It may just hold the

Panacea

.

Anant Dhavale

© Anant Dhavale

I stare into time ..

I stare into time
As if it were a television set
Blaring images
Aimlessly

Time is oblivion
Thought is but water
Water remains
A mystery
Unsolved

Cities make me
Crumble under fear
The bus stations, the ill-lit alleys
An image of me departing

I mostly like a certain mold of mine
But for a crack
That runs through my time

With soft, rustling shadows

As if they were
Solemn evenings, prolonged
With slow rains
And no end in sight

--
Anant Dhavale
© Anant Dhavale

First published on facebook on 07/12/2017

https://www.facebook.com/groups/191736614223767/?multi_permalinks=1567352586662156&notif_t=like&notif_id=1500091832033185

walks..

These lonely walks
have made you lonelier
That's what's happened.

--

Anant Dhavale