Wooden

I wake up alarmed,
The groan of pain seems unsettling-
It's new for me,
To hear the discomfort.
The seething pain seems searing,
Burning a bright hole in the lung.
Breathing seems difficult-
Yet as an observer, I wonder,
The relevance of the irony.
In the middle of the night,
As I sit up,
Cradling the hot steaming mug,
I think about the strange phone conversation-
How it happened out of the blue almost-
A wake up call?
Could be.
I am supposed to feel weird-
To know the progress in your life,
But I hardly feel much.
Care and concern-
Yes, somewhat.
But nothing more-hence I abstain-
From reaching out to you to even talk.
Could be fake from my side-
May deride or denounce your emotions.
I respect them.
I stay away.
What persists,
Is a strange line of thought-
As I try capture the meaninglessness of it all.
The point of the story being
That nothing so far-
Had any point, after all.
Dreams dreamt-
Shatter in a millisecond-
As hearts change-
And course lives too- in a heartbeat!
Thoughts turn to the ever present reality-
Which borders on surreal.
I smile,
Again, I may ask -
What's the point of it all?
My time is running out on me.
I feel strangely wooden-
With most lyrics and reactions frozen.
I wish you well-
Bid you peace.
In my mind,
In my heart-
You have brought nothing but that.
I have not. I cannot.
An innocent face,
Flashes up.
Do I feel love for it?
Could be.
I cannot define what love is-
Or any reason for it.
I would wish to protect it-
Even from me-
As also it's father-
Much away from me.
Not sure at about the whole gamut of all that I feel -
Just old and strained.
Mostly, I believe that I have lost all my emotions-
With passive eyes thus-
I watch most-
See through it all-
The farce-
The upholstery that holds all gilded edges.
I cannot not want happiness,
For all those around me.
Even for the one,
Who seems strangely calm and lost now-
Unsure of where life is- so drifting through his escapism.
The sojourn was an eye-opener-
Comfort barrier breaker,
As I could sense you  more.
But not react much to anything.
Yet, I would wish,
That you mend it all-
In your own time-
For I sense a strange cynicism lurking close by-
That scares me if it sets fire to your future.
But all these,
Seem to happen from a distance-
As I feel rudderless and motionless-
Waiting for time to race by me.