Sometimes, I listen to a little ambient post-rock,
and yes, I’d like to drift away and float through
each surreal bar, flicking off reality for minims,
quartets, seconds, hours, and I guess if I didn’t
give into that romantic false hope, with a drag
on a cigarette, close my eyes,
as the powers of transparency fight
the now bone-chilling reality of a cognition
with too much insight, and yet crumbling,
the algorithmic popping of prescription
that saves and kills, that helps me see color
while my body turns monochrome, I’d be
fine-tuned to just surviving-breathing-existing
and that’s not life, because we give
and take, admit and forgive, hate then love,
and so, let the sky turn purple,
let them have their war, I’ll just love my song.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

Protected by Copyscape

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