freedom of thought and its expression

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

The Terminal Coma

I was in my head, but I was sane,
As I walked down memory lane,
Amidst the rubble that had once been me,
In painful bliss and hideous beauty.

The oldest buildings, brought down to dust,
Some standing steel skeletons, brown with rust.
Many are gone, but somehow not lost.
Brought back to life, by sunbeams and Jack Frost.

The middle-aged ones, bent very slightly,
That still stand, that have been and will be.
Sturdy, worn doors greased, but still creaky,
Some panes broken, some panes dusty.

The newest edifice, the cement still wet,
Ready for change, unless it has set.
The lane is long, there's ample space,
And no new son, takes his father's place.

Somewhere down the lane, I see bright whiteness.
A huge white fluffy cloud, in a mushroom's likeness.
It comes ? Or do I go ? What is this I see ?
Is sanity lost ? Or do my eyes deceive me ?

If what is lost, is my sanity,
Thank goodness there remains my memory.
If it be my eyes that happen to lie,
Peace ! The truth I know, will more than satisfy.

But, Nay ! I had seen, what was part of reality.
Buildings fluttered around, like paper confetti.
A strange happiness, a colourful sight.
But then everything dissolved, into a clean white.

A grey mist took over, then there was black.
Suddenly, in a flash, the light came back.
It was a barren land, as though wiped clean.
Blue skies above and little patches of green.

Around me, some bricks, cement and sand,
Sweat for water and a spade in my hand.
Honest eyes to a sane mind saw the sun again.
With nowhere to go, I started on that long road again.

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