Dreams

Dreams,

are scrambled projections-

noise and signals,

(or holographic feeds)

emanating quite randomly

from experiential moments

and raw data-streams.

Waking lives

are autopoetic wheels

spinning rapidly

in tandem succession,

(or horrifying zeal)

to match the speed 

of the calcifying spiels.

Entropy-

it’s the joker in the dream

for whom the waking lives feel

like the empty cup of minds

(or conscious matter indeed)

to become some sort of a ‘thing’

that is thrown carelessly into being.

Are illusions really real?

Is it all 

just an illusion

in our heads 

that the living are,
 a little more kinder 

than those who are
most definitely dead?

That the world 

seems to snugly fit,

the tacit frames

in our minds

so that,

just when we decide
 to be a little more kind, 

it changes itself again,

excavating questions

that were hidden

beyond secretly

bold apparitions,

which have now

made their way 

to the surface of our beliefs, 

for the moment, 

to be here,

for the moment

to be safe?

Blowing WITH the wind?

Deliberately moving

Through the notions

Somewhat composed

Somewhat emotional 

Bags of skin and cells

Travelled well through 

The pulsing dimensions

Of light and dark particles 

Beating frequently to the laws 

of fundamental motions.

Blending with the fields 

They yielded at the signs

Of concatenated equations 

And time-signature mimes.

A rip in time 

spilled revolutions 

of the strangest kind

Some were quite potent

Others—cheap imitations.

But the minds continued to matter 

Thinking thoughts and lots of chatter.

What is this? How is that?

Why believe 

when we can worship cats?

The drama continued

And in fact got fatter

As the winds blew further

From the questions answered.

Speculative thoughts and pointless questions?

What is a Word
floating in a void,
or a sentence
devoid of meaning,
but suspended gibberish,
which for eternity
is changing?

Is it like seeing
without sight,

or watching

without peeking,
or is it the paucity
of cool light,
lurking in the shadows
of a brave awakening?

Blended themes 

and minced fears,

can make such things

seem much more clear.

But who is keeping

an eye on these dreams

that boldly appear

through a crackling stream?

Recipe of Binaries

The maladies 

of nostalgia - 

sweet strawberries 

and red cherry pies.

Before words

and after prayers,

broken rhymes about

how no one cares.

Will the metal melt

as the machines break,

what humans felt

was just give and take?

Watered melancholia 

poured over social media,

baked epiphanies stirred

with tyrannical pop-trivia?