Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Tag: Irony

Metropolitan Desert Rose

                                  not of flesh and blood they are made

Working In Dark

Invisible War inside,
Takes a toll on Daylight—

leaving Wakefulness
to helplessly Latch
onto deep Nights—

where one toils away
in darkness
but procures Fruits so few;

for the Upright Heart
anticipates the Shining of Dawn,
containing not the passion for
dark room drudging—

then how come?
that We behave as such
inverted Creatures
who disobey our Design—

allowing the evil to work in Day,
yet the Good to sweep at Night?

Freedom Days


Taste of flat beer,
Surprisingly, brings back
distant memories of freedom Days,

Free Days and
Easy ways—
Almost always, Blasé.

When one needn’t
to do much, but to Observe and Sway,
and sometimes crave—

barely Awake,
Still sleeping…
this was Our
best state—

Rarely aspiring to don
on the great Atlas,
Never fearing
the coming
of a crucial Date.



Tolls of Being “Loved by gods”

” ‘You don’t understand me, Harry,’ answered the artist. ‘Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They neither bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are—my art, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks—we shall all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.’ ”

—Basil from The Picture of Dorian Gray

Revival in A World of Irony

He was not the real husband, nor father—who had disappeared for over a year, presumably lost in the woods. The man here was simply a passer-by (somewhat) who managed to fix the generator. Waking, the woman had mistaken him for her long-absent spouse.

Helplessly Vicarious

I’ve been


Dark Flies within—


Won’t you

Stay your



The You

So near

But nowhere found,


I am


The Outside

To A




The Glare

Will bring



Bastards of Young

“The ones 

Who love us 



Are the ones

We’ll lay 

To rest,


And visit

Their graves 

On holidays

At best.


The ones 

Who love us



Are the ones

We’ll die

To please.” 


Inescapable lures;

Deflated mornings.


I’m afraid

That I shall never break free,

Uncuffed from crippling yearning,

Emancipated from the cage of

Forever falling.


Innocence besmirched

By those who criminalize,

Prosecute and Villainize

The conjured up,

Perverted me.



In blind contempt,

They know not

That I am Purity,


Too bright,

Too shrouded

For them to face

And realize.