I cannot laugh
without cause anymore
but I often giggle
out of place
without poetry
or rhythm
in conversations
not meant for me;
I often smile
at myself
when I giggle
out of place
tracing boxes
on the floor
on hazy days
in lighter dreams
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
There's a question that I've always wanted to ask everyone.
In those inane, drab few moments when you're switching on the light, or changing the gear or folding up the sides of a paper for no real reason, do you think? Do you really actively think out something that is completely amputated from your apparent stream of consciousness. Do you construct complete thoughts, imagine entire fantasies, come up with water-tight ideological retorts and fore-see your own future, while making toast? Do you elaborately think about how you're going to brighten up someone's day on a given date or how you're ruining someone's summer right now? Do you?
Or am I just mad?
In those inane, drab few moments when you're switching on the light, or changing the gear or folding up the sides of a paper for no real reason, do you think? Do you really actively think out something that is completely amputated from your apparent stream of consciousness. Do you construct complete thoughts, imagine entire fantasies, come up with water-tight ideological retorts and fore-see your own future, while making toast? Do you elaborately think about how you're going to brighten up someone's day on a given date or how you're ruining someone's summer right now? Do you?
Or am I just mad?
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The Window
The glass
of the window
of my car,
is so much cleaner
than it was,
the horn sounds clearer
the gear is smoother
the axle still wobbles,
but the wheels are firmer
than they were,
when there was
still a thumbprint
on the glass,
of the window
of my car
Rishi Razdan
of the window
of my car,
is so much cleaner
than it was,
the horn sounds clearer
the gear is smoother
the axle still wobbles,
but the wheels are firmer
than they were,
when there was
still a thumbprint
on the glass,
of the window
of my car
Rishi Razdan
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Poetry in Motion
I will write to you
when the time is right
to write,
to you.
I will explain
what I can't
when I can,
talk to you.
It won't be long
or take long
or feel wrong
to you.
It won't be rude
or angsty or real
but it will
be the truth
to you
I will write
soon;
and I won't,
pass it on
to you.
Rishi Razdan
when the time is right
to write,
to you.
I will explain
what I can't
when I can,
talk to you.
It won't be long
or take long
or feel wrong
to you.
It won't be rude
or angsty or real
but it will
be the truth
to you
I will write
soon;
and I won't,
pass it on
to you.
Rishi Razdan
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Of all the things in the world, there is one thing I suspect that I have managed to achieve. I sometimes feel like I can, far more clearly than I could, distinguish sincerity from insincerity. I suspect it strongly. I almost even believe it. I should. The alternative is, I just don't like a lot of people anymore. I look forward to the distractions that the year has to offer.
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