In Vain and Vanity

Her true true self is like a flash of prismatic light –
On the edge of glassed minds, illuminating.
Yet she remains invisible, even when bared to naked eyes.
Tired, she folds her faded reality neatly into a corner,
watches the surreal become solid way of life.
Time and time again
They prove that people like her are in vain.
She resigns, surrenders her essence to the dust.
A joyless peace consumes her,
She understands, now, why she was demeaned.
True beauty is external for external beauty is rewarded and seen,
A vanity that is never in vain.

Inside with the Night-time Cumulus

When the moon hangs overhead like a doting mother,

My thoughts become a chiaroscuro,

Indistinct, billowing shades caught by the ceiling…

The out-pour buoying,

The ‘me’ ebbing away from the walls that send back a faint echo of my innermost self

Stirring awake in the dark…

When the waylaying yellow fingers of dawn reach in through the window,

The chrysalis breaks prematurely –

and the stratus dissipates,

before I can make meaning out of it by the bureau.