I am impulses, sunk in cranial juice,
It is where I start, and my journey too,
Journey not worthy of epic ballads.
(Finding oneself has never been heroic)
Journey of no light, no princess, no gold,
But a walk, through a cold eternal night
Where silence echoes like a jukebox stuck
On a boring song as good as the moon
If there was no sun to complement her.
There lay scattered ruins of all sixteen fires,
The seventeenth- half burned, half water wet,
Hanging upside down like larger labrats.
My mind a master of thousand tortures
But the path is even still, so I walk
And walk, jog a lil, run then, until I
End up where I began- therefore I am.
~Ajay
19/3/18
