Unanchored

Channels of thoughts,
Like concentric orbits-
Rage on - muted,
Like a systemic collision.
Curled up,
I mark the degenerated,with austerity,
As progress remains quite banal,
And the finale set in regress.
If the nerve center, be on a spoke.
Then life seems to be in 24 different directions-
All at once.
Mayhaps, all this,
All at once-
Is a wake-up call.
To brush my present with sanity,
And come back to life.
Hit the pause button - rewind.
Maybe the hour long conversation
Which ensconced 100:1 ratio of words minced-
By you and me-
Did have an effect.
Pontificated absoluteness,
Presaged me.
As the two worlds,
Came sharply in focus.
Perhaps, I am really not
Meant for the severity that numbers impose,
On me.
It's a drudgery, then -
This trajectory.
Linearity, is not me.
Yet, that's where,more so often,
I find myself wandering.
Trying to choose the right path,
From all 24 different directions.
I should live for me-
Give up all folly.
All dogmatic foolhardy ways,
And irrational hopes.
Dreams kill.
Kill dreams.
Be an active, to my passive.
Be self-reliant,
Than a reluctant pliant.
You tell me to hold on,
Keep the faith alive.
But all I see,
Is the clock ticking away-
To glory?
I wonder,
How can I,
And how long-
When we're fast diminishing proximity-
And drift to far-away nothingness.
Nothing shared-
Nothing gained.
You slowly become,
Just another face-
Just another abstract foothold.
It matters,
Who I am in your eyes.
Careful, thence,
I re-think most actions-
Keeping your vox in perspective.
I wish not to perturb the disturbed,
But increasingly,
The after-effect is a weakening,
Of self-identity.
At times,
You seem like a stranger-
I know not what brings
The many creases alive.
I think about ,
What truly gives the flotsam,
Some relief and joy.
But the answer now lies
In oblivion.
As all traces of old innocence,
Seems to have evaporated.
Maybe, there's an expiry date,
To self too-
Like a snake,
We exfoliate too.
Dissolve
Absolve
Resolve
- yet flow on-
Un-anchored.