A Murakami reflection

Unknown music

Unknown music from unseen quarters
Invades the rusty silence
Of jaded hearts.

Certain chords sound a familiar melody
Perhaps echoes
From lives past.

It's a song a seamstress wove
From the looms of un-spun dreams

And what it seems
Are keys 

From a broken piano.

It's a song I once heard

In a dream I never remembered

I know now,
I bore this song all this while

The only key to a secret file
I once slipped into the gaps between time.

Time-bound Energy

I have

No sense of self

Only a sense

Of messed up thoughts

And fiery aspiration.

Hopes and dreams and dust and jewels and

Love

Things and feelings

Places and beings

Parts of me

Parts of them

In me.

A sense

of Time-bound Energy

Mine to direct

Until I am me.

A life lived in technicolour

And memories prone to routine theft

And a spirit that rises to the fore

(Like in Kundera's Teresa)

Only when the sun shines

From a particularly pretty point

In a cloudy sky

A life lived trying to live a life

Failing

Instead making

Magical written history

I have

No sense of self

Only a sense

Of a story I wove

A story I told

The world.

And a compelling one it was.

Drift

People drift
Equations shift
Like tectonic plates.

Modern hieroglyphs grow

In the spaces where

Words should have been.

And silent moss

Takes over

By time, unseen.