I’m a Mess

 

I’m a mess, weak and at times foolish,

My dreams seems scattered extravagantly as debris on my path,

The sounds of my reckless imagination ply the air around me,

They lay at the centre of my dogma of philosophy

 

Every motion of my life has meaning that deeply matters,

They bear silly patterns that make my life an existential lark,

Sometimes I fear that I would be at an impasse,

Probably because there is something unseen waiting

 

I’m a mess because I bond so tightly with my gut,

I like the idea that there is safety in the tickling of the clock,

Keeping the door wide open for fate to bring forth its twists and turns,

Because I know for sure that in the end, its all picturesque

 

I’m foolish because I find too much meaning in illusions,

My born stupidity lubricates my silent gales of giggles,

They carry an extra-ordinary quality to many unforgettable moments,

For sometimes nothing matters than a moment of self and thrill

 

My weaknesses are the open floodgates of my irrepressible charm,

I am a bended arrow hitting all the wrong but right places,

I am navigated by my reckless instincts, sounds and smells,

For I have half formed idea that they bring timelessness in the rhythm of life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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