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
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
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.


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.