For my Ol' Man.

So long had I,
Associated that,
With the scent of you.
Back in those innocent days,
When that smell-
Would symbolize your proximity.
Each night at nine,
Would run to greet you-
To embrace that smell-
That drew me to you.
Heralded your resonance-
In me.
Acceptance without questioning-
Was the inevitable part in me-
Unconditionally.
My 'id' would drive my need.
As I hunted all over-
For the smell of you,
In your absence.
As wisdom came with age,
And I knew the source of it-
I had never stopped you-
As the sadistic part in me-
Would continue its search-
Repulsively-Compulsively.
Not intoxication-
Not even an addiction-with its serrated edge.
Its just  my re-connection  with my roots.
As I stayed away-
Strayed farther-
I would still be reliving the smell,
That would often linger on your fingertips-
When you chose to be close to me.
Its all etched in my mind-
A picture of the past-
Kept away callously-
In that ash-tray.
The smoke's the ghost that keeps you close.
An efficacy of the effigy-
That-though tainted- refuses to be sordid.
I smell it all about me now-
As I stir the ashes myself-
This time.
While the thoughts continue,
To haunt with its taunt.

Amour.

Somewhere, as the road forks,
Over to the shadow lands
And the blinding turns,
I still travel the cobbled stones-
Up turned- bare-feet.
My arrhythmic steps,
Crafting their own pace-
Marching on- with their own beat-
No matter the jagged edges
And the jaded footfalls.
There seems to be
No beginning,
No end-
Of this path that I traverse now.
Uncontrolled-unhurried foot steps,
Race along with time-
The clock stands- as my solitary witness of accord.
Amour.
Its my zeal.
A new found, newly created identity.
Amour-
My only home-the address unchanged.
It beckons out to me-
To strive harder-
For that patience in its perfection,
Previously amiss.
It draws me to it,
Like a moth to fire,
As I watch with sinful pleasure-
The embers burning my fingertips.
Scars- seem mysteriously meaningless-
Now,
I watch the marks appear in their distorted forms-
As they spread their spidery scatter plots-
All across my mind space.
My red eyes,
Search for the dark pools,
Of the familiar brown,
That guide me to my freedom.
Chained- bound- till then,
Willing and able,
Lost in this curious contradiction,
Of black and white.
Grey- colors my reasons now.
I seek no form-
No definition.
No concrete abstracts.
Metamorphosis- catalyzes my motion now.
My thought buds,
Nascent- in their matured bloom.
Evolution- tinged with yellow.
Amour in my red.
I feel it,
Coursing in through me,
Its pulsating drum beats of disharmony,
Suddenly my joy.
Regression- seems sweeter,
Correlation - still stronger yet.
Mutuality- a defence.
Amour.
My shelter.
Still.
Against all odds.