the illusionist

an illusion is but a story

a story is but a myth

a myth is just a lie

you reconcile yourself with

it is all the little things

the intricacies of deceit

disguised by flashy colours and that captivate you

and manipulate you to believe

the master illusionist is not one

who pulls a rabbit from his hat

or the one whose lovely assistant

disappears as the sensational act

the master illusionist is the one

who everybody thinks they know

so smart and charming, you listen to him

unaware that its all a show

they aim to please and pleased you are

that it pleases them to please

flawless teeth and eloquent words

and clothes without a crease

you believe every smile and every word and every rhyme

they flatter you, so you nod your head every single time

even if your heart hesitates, your head still holds firm

and you will follow the illusionist through every twist and turn

the illusion can be anything and everything you hold true

the illusionist, he lies, that is all he is taught to do

for everything we know is a lie, everything is a myth

everything is just a version of the truth we reconcile ourselves with

no one knows who says what

no two perceptions are ever the same

so with no truth, its all a lie

an illusionary game

RED

Red

A little love a little heart it is all a little red

As is little blood and a little danger and a little dead

A pretty red ribbon on a present leads to a smile so bright

A sassy red dress with the hem too high leads to a mother daughter fight

A red droplet of blood on the desk, the symptoms of a paper cut

A larger pool next to a corpse, the symptom of extreme blood lust

A bouquet of red roses in a florist’s shop, just waiting to make someone’s day

A small red ball in a happy Labrador’s mouth when he goes to play

A red skull on the electricity box to keep innocent kids alive

The red button on the x box that helps you survive

The red lipstick on a woman’s lips that make lonely men sigh

The busy button pressed during an incoming call when we tell a little lie

A juicy red apple in the Garden of Eden symbolizing the original sin

The red traffic light on the roads that keep accidents a little thin

The red bra of the hooker who he pays to fill his time

The red anger on the driver’s face when he has to pay a fine

The Red hot iron just before it takes a blow

The red hot chilly peppers when their songs begin to flow

The bright red cherries on a little girl’s frock

The bright red flags waved on a foggy dock

The red tube of toothpaste in a cup next to the sink

The delicious smell of my finest wine, I drink.

The red nail polish on the girl who’s trying to make a statement

The red ribbon express, roaming India and fulfilling their commitment

The loud red bellbottoms that once used to be famous

The red correction marks in our homework, left there to shame us.

The smooth red strokes of acrylic paint on an artist’s wall

It may be good, it may be bad but red, it is all!

good morning

the sun rose long ago, it is now bleary and drunk and drowsily withdrawing itself from the day.
he lays asleep on a messy bed, his intentions matching the evenings conviction.
a stupor settles over everyone, all thought lost, mindless dazed and wordless
and they march, the march onwards towards certain uncertainty.
the singers hum a frivolous tune, the poets try to ponder a clever oxymoron.
they cant. they are blanketed by the stupor.
the dancers half heatedly skip and jump, sashes and pirouette.
they are clocked by the lazy stupor.
the scholars make small talk, the deep end left un wandered
they are warned off by the stupor
the children play, they run barefoot and fall and get back up running again.
they are untouched by the stupor. they do not understand it.
the fiery beast groggily lays for slumber.
he rises from the sheets, stands on the cold marble floor
the inevitable stupor temporarily lifted by the cool bottle.
there is energy and ferocity and melancholy but exceptionally jolly.
goodnight?
good morning.

world happiness quotient

how can you think when you have voices whispering in your ears?

how can you know anything without experiencing it?

who are you to judge what other do? judge yourself.

judge extensions of yourself, if they give you the right.

or just jet go of all judgement. forget black and white.

get lost in a whirlpool of colour. there are no grey areas.

there is no wrong and right, wipe out all your wounds and scars.

live liberated, uneducated, emasculated, exaggerated, unfated.

leave your ego and pride and self consciousness, leave it un-deliberated.

then, without pre conceived notions and biased emotions

look around and see colour in motion.

bright and individual, separate from situation, consequence or reality

it will give you momentary joy and hope and tranquility

find the colour when you see a beggar child on the road,

find the hue in the white seminaries-so cold

look for a tint in the overflowing landfill

notice the dye in the eyes of the hunter's kill

the pigment in the cars that crowd the streets

the shade of torn, burnt and rejected paper sheets.

and for a moment feel the joy detached from meaning or motion,

and your smile and joy will increase the worlds happiness quotient