Dreaming

I sat there listening to the water gurgle,
To my friend talking about time past
I saw small fishes trying to swim
Cutting through, forcing their way,
Against the steady flowing current of the slope
I saw crows and egrets trying to fill their beaks
With the same fish as they lay susceptible
In their dreams of the other side
I could see the sun’s dying light flashing,
Piercing the dust on the faces of humans
Who laugh, baring their teeth, with their socks on.
The water filled with bottles, dirt and corncobs,
Like the corncob held by my friend being eyed
By a tyke with orange hue plastered on its body.
I saw bubbles rushing up to the water and
Giving their last breath as they leave forever
Their flowing bodies, lives of short space and time.
I wonder if these string of words have any meaning,
Is this amour propre or just conceitedness of my brain,
To think the most generic and then to call myself a writer,
Frightened by my own phantasms,
I cry out in vanity about the dreams of being a writer,
With the smell of a burnt corncob and a half finished verse.

Reflection on life

There was a lightbulb flickering outside my home,
The street looked different under that light,
But next day it was fixed and everything changed.
There was a hole in the road I traverse on,
The ride felt bumpy and my body ached,
But another day it was gone and everything changed.
There was a tree from whose branches
Pigeons constantly shat on my vehicle and tarnished the shine,
But one day it was taken down, displaced,
And much changed with the begone shade.
There was a lizard that came daily to my bathroom,
It watched me bathe though I constantly shooed it away,
One day it lay without motion on the strainer,
Everything changed with
Its body transparent as a ghost, free of any camaraderie.
Days tick by, hours pass by, time stops;
Does life stop?
You live as if you are dead but you know you are alive,
You sip a cup of hot tea, you feel the tinge,
Your mother berates about your existence,
you cry.
The water clenches you deep yet you feel the warmth,
You light a cigarette for someone, you give money to some,
Someone calls out your name, you want someone to say your name
You worry, you try, you question; for what?
This life is nothing, you know that, yet it remains everything.