The grotesque us & the rest.

In moments of absolute inclination,
proving to be unnervingly long,
is when I admit to myself
between this struggle of holding on or letting it go,
That there is no escape whatsoever.
Like a child,
Entitled to forgiveness, love, care
attention, tantrum and more,
You are to me
Irrespective of what is or what will be.

I wait, as if the sea
could make my decision for me,
Of a million lives lived,
and a zillion moments made,
Does all this matter?
The poetry, the prose,
The deed, good & bad.
The empathy, the sympathy,
The success, the set back,
Does it matter to the cycle of life?

The lion, the deer,
The fly, the electric squatter,
The wind, the dust,
Is life as we know it,
An art of vain?
This mad coupling of hope and effort?
In which we merged and despaired?
Amidst questions, set rules of life,
yearning, letting go, you & i,
In words the 'now' points.

Author's Note

© Deekshita
torn between putting the mind to rest from all the questions and not wanting to do the same.

17:01
The Eleventh of June '17