Into the Night

Into the Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Do not go quiet without a fight,

rage, rage against the dying of a life.

Do not go silent into the morrow,

rage, rage against the passing of the time.

Do not go discreet with the passing hours,

rage, rage against the careful plight.

Do not go simple into this life,

rage, rage for the quest alike. 
Do not go gentle my friend,

go in a frenzy your own way.

(Inspired and propelled by Dylan Thomas’ poetry).


Cry, cry you may.

The words fall on deaf ears.

Noise filters not through haze.

Life, it has but been waste. 

Time matters, as long as displayed;

Msgs, txts, the numerous #hastags!

Friends aplenty on the wide world of web.

Yet, very few know what it takes;

to go through day by day. 

Life in motion is only motion,

seemlessley going nowhere. 
Lols, Lmaos and TGIFs 

bring back Thursdays.
But wait… Who brings back this moment? This place? This…something.
You don’t care. Another selfie communicates. 
Me, mine, my. How’s my face? status update.
OMG, wtf. Society has abbreviated

in every which way. 

So do TC.


Eyes smile wide at the passing trend.Life chugs at an astounding pace.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow; what’s the difference?

For it all just blends; insignificant.
Tomorrow’s history, today is a mystery, and yesterday, babylonian history. 

Mankind races, not for nature nor nurture; for manmade oddities.

All the while earth bleeds for greed and temporary feats.

Eyes smile wide at a passing trend. 

Soon to be extinct: everything.  

Can I tell you a story?

Can I tell you a story?A floppy, flimsy story. 

Of a fairy who mopped, 

the carrot-topped hill.

Dirt, dirt, so much it is.

Yet the dirt only shifted,

never left. 

Can I tell you a story? 

A silly kind of story.

Of a jinn in its bottle

swarming eagerly the opening.

Waiting patiently for an exit 

yet held all the magic of the world.

It did.

Can I tell you a tale?

A bearded tale of gentry

who bid adieu to his lady

too cowardly to sing 

My lady. 

I go

I go as far as the eye goes

I sow as much as the seed grows

I water till the last drop of sea flows

I reap only what the Earth knows.
I, such a word that is hardly a word,

but a solitary letter. 

I, I know as much as you will teach me.
This world, it grows as much as I seek.

Not one answer, not one creed. 

But many, marching to some distant beat. 

I am human. 

I am me.

I am cencorsed only by me.
I go as far as the mind grows,

doors flung open, waiting.
I go. So man goes. 

Vintage be 

Cling it did like the old misty mildew

long forgotten by time

sleek and cold across the ceiling.

Glistened the fine gossamer 

waltzing figures spun from the dew

glint and swirl as though music played

silently, for none but them.

Resting dust hugged the vintage wood

like long lost lovers united

all consuming, all immediate

as though years apart were torture of sorts.

And outside, the garden grew 

wild as if the days ahead were short

soaking all the sun, all the rain.
But none saw the ragged doll beneath tall weeds

an arm torn from its socket,

eyes fixed to the promising sky

perhaps she would today see a familiar face…

the child who left in a hurry,

dragged by the arm, her cries unheard.
‘My dolly! My dolly!’ …and shoved into a beaten old tin box.

The exhaust spewing dirty.