Poetry Goes Well With Friday, 13th

Just another thing that I wrote in-between having self-doubts and doing so-called “real work”.  For me, poetry remains a way of getting rid of all worries.

Someone very dear to me said that this particular poem was “very ugly”. In fact, that is so true that I’d love to use it as a sort of epigraph. (Of course,the poem itself is provisionally titled, in my “traditional” vein, “Shadows”. The creepy-cute collage is also the result of my self-motivational campaign.)



What are we if not shadows of the clouds
Twisting on the pavement,
Reaching towards one another
Like blind creatures in the dark?
We don’t care too much for anything
But we’re scared of always wandering alone
We’re scared of how rain blurs away
Our minds and how wind  comes to scatter
All the gravel and the dust our forms have leant upon.


I know the periphery of a word
(From you)
Should make me content
But as things stand
It only makes me crave for more,
Poor beggar corvid that I am.
Laughing now
(Are you?)
But there’s no point in looking back
Over a stranger’s shoulder.
The sky is closed behind
I have to forage once again
For shattered pieces of security.


Our doubts are closing in on us.
‘It ‘s like a riddle that you have to solve’
Someone said once.
But I’m tired of riddles.
On towards the skyline, then!
But only after.

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