Feeling cold in the Month of May

I'm feeling cold in the Month of May
as you bedazzle my sightless range.
When broken limbs just wish to play,
when safety anchors the deranged.

I'm finding a plane in a valley uneven,
for they call what they wish to May.
My December is warm, if you believe in
standing straight in a world turvy in it's way.

Feeling cold in the Month of May
Blood flowing bold in immaculate play.

Of Yummy Cakes and Irresistible Pastries

Cake is an easy, familiar band from the looks of it. Music like a plain, likable chocolate icing top. But the lyrics come like the surprise nutty filling. Mildly unexpected, but not unwanted at all!
They've clearly done a good job of choosing a name for themselves. Intriguing, evoking a sense of irresistible desire to bite in. And ultimately, we experience the work of a good bakery. (Okay, that was a shameful metaphor. Stop reading my blog. Wonder why you even come here - it isn't even titled anything remotely close to a confectionery item.)

But it isn't just Cake that's hard to keep my senses away from. One million distractions. Dancing in front of my eyes. Exploring good music, finding meaning it, reading about movies, watching others, relentless virtual  chatting with acquaintances, inappropriately commending myself for my social skills after, daydreaming about boys, dreaming about boys as boyfriends, waking up to tell myself how disgusting that is, subsequently attempting to decode those dreams with some broken knowledge of psychoanalysis, thinking of all the unfinished assignments, thinking of identity and it's formation, browsing through the papers, contemplating India's future, convincing myself Communism is an impossibility - OH, it does not stop!

Anyway, it's now about 1:30am. The long, unproductive day is finally over. And then sets in an unparallelled feeling of guilt and remorse.

 "What am I doing to my life?"

Corrective measures, please!

Very self-righteously, googling 'How to Focus' and everything seems to be fine, fine, fine.
*Insert divine music and peaceful white clouds and the assurance of a faint, white, old figure.*

Oh, Redemption!

TOMORROW shall be different. Tomorrow,  I will do these breathing exercises, I will stay away from all distractions, I will NOT stalk that boy and all the others on Facebook. Tomorrow, I will not go back to marathon sessions of those silly TV series. Oh, how could I even be this stupid? Everything seems to make sense now!

Oh come on, we all know how yesterday is going to be!

Aah, priceless mediocrity and the quaint pleasures of giving into shallow desires.

Sleep

Innocent laughter mature into dirty jokes,
naive letters into witty one lined pokes.
Silly fights turn into ugly unspoken conversations,
shrink from never ending rambling to lethargic half sentence formations.

Fluid love metamorphosed into frigid protocol.
Mere remains remain.
Broken shards of glass but the past reflected vividly.

Is it too soon to muse? Oh worrisome unreason.
Venture we must into life, lest we stagnate.

They meant, once, the world.
But now they become one with it - loathsome treason!
Now, terrify me; compel me to feign.

Even though I fought to prevail,
my emotions sought to breathe.
Forgiveness met the knives they threw,
which slit my blossoming spirit through it's sheath.

Complains to step towards growth,
with hope for the crawl to burst into confident strides
But change occurs when permitted
Success transpires when mistakes admitted

Is it a crime to change?
(And worse to take them along, they say.)

Fortune shone on you so you never really looked.
Hope gave a hand that you never quite shook.
Life was right inside, you never embraced her -did you?
The world was watching and that's what kept you.

That made you one with the world.
Deem that acceptance if you will.
And you shall become them, fast asleep.
While I sing my lonely song - at least I grow, even though I weep.