By: Amrita Valan

The Day (The Music Died?)

An adult year cramps
Easily into
One childish day.

Between each sunrise
And sunset
A lifetime garners,
entropy from ennui.

Boredom
Creative idleness,
Childhood’s idyllic
Paradise
Enters the maze
The buzzkill
The monotonous daily grind
Peels the tender rinds
Of sanity.
Orange is the new black
To Jail! To Jail!
Ready to be
“Prisoners of our own device”

Ambition a cooked up dream
To line up the drones
Worker bees
Into colour tagged teams.

Fleeting tenderness must
Undress
Sinuous arches swathe
In flesh
The spirit learns
To violate its sacred space
Then we surrender
And call it grace.

###

 
Brainiac Maniac

I celebrated a tireless striving
A moment’s inspiration
And a neuron recorded it to
Reach out, hold hands and
Make a connection.
Electricity exchanged.
A memory bank built.

In search of the same old
Thrill, a ghost hunt still to
Find my elves, fiends and
Sublimated selves, in the
Nook and cranny of being.
Evolving shelved suppositions
Of existence. This discrete
Set of circumstances
Which I call my accidental
Humanity, SETI I suspect
Would make a better fit.

I don my human suit
And clasp the pendant
Of a beating meat heart
And a fatty myelinated
Think burger that sizzles
Dazzling umami pungent
Electrochemical thoughts.

I am not even me, really
If I forgot, the glia, microglia
And neurons would carry
On just the same. Perhaps
With the greater glee of
Autonomy.

I think, I think, therefore I
am, but I am, therefore I am
allowed to think.
I think.

There’s a happy thought
Tucked away somewhere
In this. In my tart moist
Supra bathed crenelated
Niche of fatty acid
Abstraction.

If I could find my sweet
spot, I would give it
Three cheers after much
Brainstorming.