The journey of perception.

It was both worldly & beyond this world, mundane,

Driven by those around me and those who were created by me, call me insane.

My heart refused to rest after beating so anxiously for months in a row,

And I dared not to stop anticipating the disasters that chiselled the deep lines on my brow.

Sometimes I couldn't sleep for hours

And sometimes I put on my slippers at 4 a.m. just to walk under morning stars.

The siren songs coming out of smoke,

Always lured me to light that fag, believing the ever shining hoax.

It was from the senility that killed thousand reasons,

The madness, the solitude, the endless nights,

The anticipation had me curled.

To tell you the truth it was as blurred as addiction,

And as clear as the same with lack of conviction.

It was a perfect little couch with Netflix and a bottle of beer,

It was the same couch that makes one lazy and as fat as a bear.

The caffeine never left my system,

And nights were unclean with the phone screen flashing, buxom.

The path was clear but dark,

Unfortunately my lantern was running low on kerosene

And I never learned to hark.

It was this unlit lantern that kept me awake,

In the midst of faceless howls and endless rattle of failure snakes.

It was my perception running low on exposure,

That kept me awake in the middle of bad choices and my broken composure.

In the supposed end it wasn't a human that cradled me,

Neither the man made fiddled sins.

It was a tender breeze,

The warmth of sun on a mountain peak,

The candour of how a new born sees,

It was a reflection of everything I could be.

That feeling had to carry my heavy soul,

Through the vast deserts of anxiety and through the place where dreams fold.

There my dreams touched themselves,

Head to toe, just to know it was always a frown,

And the forever etched lines on my brow.

There was a grave of forced dreams,

With marked tombstones, which bore the name of brave blokes,

Who slain them with their passion.

Sadly it wasn't of any use,

my vision was yet to be edified and my soul was yet to feel a craving.

Hence that feeling carried me in vain,

And it bade farewell with a kiss & a bruise,

Which I use to smith words that still keeps me sane.

So that my midnight perambulations are justified for a brief moment,

Where I wash my selfish spree with words of compassion and it's my atonement.

I felt enlightened with every story I created,

Every word added a li'll height to my flight.

But i was never more wrong when it all dissipated,

The earth came calling and I fell down like a lost kite.

The prejudices were yet to be nerfed.

Because life always asked for more to sustain its belief,

Belief in the concepts described in words,

But creating a world on paper was easier than materializing.

Then the fiction was born,

I was prince living on road,

Fighting everyday's mystical battles to live,

And the sky was roof of the castle I called my abode.

That castle was too big for me,

So I allowed the world in there, to sleep,

And this way my life turned to fiction every day,

But every night I walked back to reality,

Where my sanity was insanity,

Just to hear my own voice weep.

And with every gasp the way back became more obscure,

One day I lost my way back to that happy fiction

With my happy fiction lost i was forced to confront reality,

Where I had nothing to lose,

Still an uncertain consternation in that moment had me speak.

After years I heard myself conversing to my soul,

I felt like growing up in reverse, with preconceptions fading away.

Only then I gained the long lost affinity,

The affinity with that prodigal feeling that once carried my heavy soul,

And this time it wasn't in vain,

For this time I picked it myself with a roar drenched in previously suppressed bestiality.

At least now I was trying to materialize that world in papers,

The Utopian concept which asked for nothing more than a clean slate,

The slate which had society in its microscopic craters,

Then that prodigal feeling of uncertain happiness in distant future worked as the scraper.

Some faces were turned about,

Some voices stopped calling,

But it was now when the shame freed me along with the shackle like doubts,

Which was almost everything I ever received from my dogmatic surroundings.

It was then my sins were truly washed,

The guilt dissipated for the first time,

Sure there was a speck of sadness left for the people & moments I lost,

But I lost so much of me to get a living,

So I guess I'll just rest for a while,