Ego's perspective

 I hoard minutes  in a prison of digits where the bars are prisms  and the lights, delights. I weigh bliss  on a scale of cause where the weights are loss  and the needles, flaws. I count peace  on a tally of smiles where the lines are lies  and the equations, deceptions. I look too close yet I see very little I feel too much  yet feelings, riddle. ecstasy eludes as I stalk its scent  taunting me while smiles around ascent. now I'm chasing Melancholy  and she's chasing me back running around in circles never ready to attack.

  It was a peculiar night, the kind of night where stories come to life. Houses of ill repute and blinking streetlamps dimly illuminated the town. Leaving behind footprints on the snowy mud, a cloaked man walks... A tavern stood, barely visible in the blizzard. The man walked in and slips in two pence to a least drunk man and asks. "Point me to the direction of one William Shakespeare." The man lazily pocketed the coin and pointed to a jovial man chatting animatedly to a bored and half-asleep barkeep. Taking a stool near him, the man ordered a whiskey. In his merry mood, William studied the man. "Haven't seen you here before?" William asks. "Haven't been here before." "Ha, a witty traveler, just what I needed." William turned his chair to the man and extended his hand, chuckling drunkenly. "The name's William Shakespeare." The stranger made no move to shake Williams's hand. The rude yet witty stranger was g

  Coffee, lord, and savior. The powers thy lend Makes me a warrior. On thou, my homework depend. Your grace, my grades ascend.   Coffee, poor man’s cocaine. Thy dealers, in plain sight, Forever shall humbly reign. A welcome darkness between duty-bound daylight. All who brew are thine humble acolyte.   Coffee, god to man. Let heretics worship tea. To them, I beg your forgiveness to span. Lead their spirits to thy caffeine sea. On all human exploits, glory to thee.   Coffee, red fruit of salvation. Coffee, roasted providence of benevolence. Coffee, thy dust, an invocation. Coffee, aqueous defender of somnolence. Coffee, in heat, does thy show more opulence.   Coffee, lord, and savior My tearful gratitude.    

  New York, the city that is reborn every minute. Sekhmet , the cruise ship, stands majestically in the pale moonlight. After convincing his sister, Rachel, to board and that he would join her after a quick phone call, Raphael waves her off. Pulling out his phone, he walks towards the pier when a woman emerged from the shadows with ferocious speed and kissed him with feverous passion. After a brief shock, Raphael returned it with the same haste.   Breaking for air, she spoke. "Raf, where the hell were you? I’ve been waiting for, like half an hour." "Sorry Mel, it’s hard to convince her. She still has some doubts, "he spoke, pulling her close once more. It doesn’t matter if she had doubts. You gave me a word. You will come with me in Mac’s boat.” With a mischievous smile, she continued, "We will have all kinds of fun." Hand in hand, they walked to a smaller luxury boat bobbing with the waves; Omina . They have been plotting this since Raf found out th

  Nothing, a more potent catalyst for change than a sudden war. But there is no such thing as a sudden war, it was always brewing, you either didn’t care enough, or you cared too much. This was the thought Marie had when she was sitting under the lunch table huddled with her son and dog while their world fell apart. When the bullets subsided. Marie went to the boarded-up window and peeked through a sliver. Moments passed, and then more moments passed, she looked back to her son and released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. When the moon rose high in the sky they were moving through the streets like shadows, with a precious few things in some bags. When they reached the harbor, it was almost dawn. Marie frantically realized that the ship she paid to take them on, has already fled. Among the countless masts and furled-up sails, she saw not one hopeful colour. Marie sat down in dejection, their dog Marly came to her and started licking her hands. As she mustered up enough c

Houses of the blind Made of glasses and the light No questions asked  And nor do they care      The people are happy always so chatty Their smile never reach their eye the clothes they wear a well-fitting lie the love they share the roll of a die   I left that sight, for my poetic plight. a departure filled in delight   Now I wander, a failed commander Eating stale dreams for dinner      

 “I know he has one. I’ve seen him write on it when I was a kid,” a voice cried out from one of the rooms upstairs in that nalukettu. The house was searching itself one could say, as if a man was searching for answers within himself.  Sun trekked through the sky and reached its peak, everyone in the house heeded the call of hunger. Except for one young man. “"Why is he so adamant about finding that old thing, assuming it even exists?” an elderly man spoke sitting down. “He wants to show it off when he joins the party tomorrow. What else can create a bigger wave than donating the personal diary of a freedom fighter and the best friend of a great martyr?” a motherly voice spoke, coming out of the kitchen with trays and dishes of scented food in hand. The little girl at the table took a bite out of the pappadom and smiled cutely to avoid punishment. When she felt her mother's eyes on her face she asked her father to explain why grandpa was such a big name in the village.  Childre