March 15, 2010

 ...and time changes, 
like chameleon skin, 
ushering in the old and new 
in random alternation! 
And we remain, 
mere witnesses 
letting time wash over us 
with its brute force!

March 04, 2010

My world

little voices in my head
squeak to grab attention
from the noises in my earphone
chewing noises
anklet sounds
wind whisking by
birds chattering on a balmy noon.

idle dreams fly by my head
in circles and triangles
and vaguely sometimes
in squares too
mocking at the meaning
i try to draw from those shapes
telling me they are after all
just dreams

i swat them hard
with the micronet of thought
swok swok swok
they die their dreamy death
into oblivion
their firefly existence
drowned by the power torch
of my willpower.

haywire the thought-web spins
from potatoes to placebos
jangris to gazebos
armchairs to Computers for Dummies.


the strength of my selfhood

buzzing sounds
of high voltage ideas
striking with intensity
a singed smell
the birth of thought.

swimming colours
floating figures
nursery rhymes
lyrics of forgotten songs
embers of dead fires
cyclonic storm raging within

trippy, the world i make for myself
a lego block world
with doctor sets and barbie dolls
G.I.Joes and mosquito net houses
fake mousch-es and wigs from thread
sock dresses and paper boats
imaginary friends and real enemies
office-office and fake responsibilities
card games and bus ticket currencies.

i move the coins
my will and wish
my fingers point inwards
at myself
when castles break
clothes rip
paper boats get soggy in the water tub stream.

i still have my rose tinted glasses
cracking from the sides
as time beats it down with its hammer

someday this glass shall be made into powder
and i know i'll store them
in a photo roll can
and wait for my miracle maker
to come up with a formula
to resurrect my cool rose shades
to wear them once again.

Awaiting questions

black and blue
dull rusted metal
clinging on
to one another for survival
as vines creep up to eat them away

I draw them around me
by the diktats of the world
that command me-
fashion yourself in a certain way
forget what you feel
no more is this an open kingdom
bottle them up, they say!

the shutters bind
I have no key
no secret code
no magic chants

standing outside my cage
the world laughs
calls me by different names
I know not, sometimes, how to respond.

Words, my slaves,
at times fail me
buckle me and chain me
their silence, their absence
or as blunders and potholes.

These shutters
that curb and contain and impose and refrain
these shutters
I want a release from these shutters.


Too much philosophy is happening in the quiet of the head. As earphones plug me off from the out-worldly sounds, as moving images of two of my ad films digress me from the movements around, introspection has set in.

How quiet my life seems, and yet so cluttered with the voices in my head. I wonder why I have so many questions. And I wonder if anyone can even be addressed those questions to.

Twenty three years and yet I feel life has just gone a full circle. No wisdom, no sense. Impulsiveness and trust still belittling all the knowledge I amass.

Work anchors me. Thoughts of home and family set in a calm. Friends- here, there, everywhere inspire a smile.

But what is all this about? This struggle, this defeat, those minor random wins, that heart-wrenching pain that plagues me in spasms of suddenness, that hysterical laughter that drowns every goddamn existing thingsoundsmell in a whisker.

I am not depressed in the least. I am just too pensive, and introspective. Attempting patterns of sense, figuring the bigger jigsaw puzzle that includes my own little set of puzzle blocks as a minor set.

Like they say, maybe only time can tell...

March 03, 2010

Snipping away...

I am snipping away...
not just the reel images that I once conceived
in a particular fashion
in a certain style
flowing to a perfect rhythm brewed.

I am snipping away...
also the fingernails that grew over
that hurt me when I clean my face
that scratch me in my sleep
the nails I let grow hoping to see prettier fingers.

Snipping is all I do in life
The baggage I carry
of thoughts and emotions
fashioned from mud, artistically by eager hands;
those very hands gripped each other in fear
when it saw the world had trampled it over
in naughty enthusiasm.

Snipping snipping snipping
cloth, film, hair, nails, thoughts, feelings
cutting to fit
some hand in glove
some feet in sock
some spirit into life
some happiness into days

snip those sad dreams
that wilted
snip away those idle thoughts
that wasted
snip away everything, just everything.


After five whole days of undiluted happiness, a poisoned drop of sadness pollutes. This is my self-cleans(i/o)g.

I am, asking too many questions out of life...
© Dryad's Peak
Maira Gall