From the Requiem, by Anna Akhtamova (1889-1966)

Not under foreign skies
Nor under foreign wings protected - i lay

naked
exposed
still
cold
alive to sounds of death around me

unfeeling
deaf
immune
comatose
dancing to tune of the last dirge

unbound
soaring
escaping
leaving
imprisoned by memories of the living

Not under dark clouds
Nor under any pressure to perform - i sang, silently.

(done by avinash subramaniam as an exercise where you take the first two lines of a great poem and ruin it with personal mediocrity.)

Space

it was inviting
it was warm
it was snug
it was moist
it was sweet
it was comfortable
it was bloody
it was fecund
it was hungry
it was open
it was mine
it was waiting
it was perfect
it was a trap

Space

whateveryoudowhereveryougowhereveryouare
whoeveryouwanttobewhateveryouwantobuyor
sellorfallinlovewithoroutoforintostopstart
gointhebeginningtowardstheendinbetweenthe
factofthematteristheworldmakesnosensewithout
s p a c e

The Loner

displayed in a museum
nestled in our memories
seen in history books
talked about wistfully
reduced to a relic
considered very rare
a blast from the past
a cover blown away
something to be treasured
fodder for the greens
eradicated by man
replaced by industry
preserved in a glass
the last blade of grass

Mind matters

a chimp i mistook for a lion
instead of green i see cyan
wanted to go to paris
ended up in zion

water that flows backwards
gravity that pulls upwards
chasing the company of people
ended up in a world of cowards

travelling without moving
shaking without stirring
settled in for a quiet even
ended up in a piteous whining

chasing a chimera
analysing a kookoburra
watching a game of cricket
in the company of psychedelia

a trip through my fires.

red, blue, green and a million others
colours is all i see
staring from where i am
everything looks bloody crazy to me

pink, white, magenta and orange
the shades are beginning to blind me
lemme pop in a few more
and stir that brew i call soul curry

violet, black, black and more black
the images are beginning to look dirty
what kind of fucking trip is this
think i've had one too many

golden, brown, blue and one too many
i can't take more of this wild imagery
life is a good enough trip
experimenting with acid ain't in the least bit funny.