Pattern ...

The moments of past is embedded

in moments of future

and future is rooted in past.

The same recurrence of striving to paint

a deep blue ocean or a moss green forest

with perfect hue

yet each time you coat a collage of mismatch;

repetition of trying to draw a circle

but the lines keep running parallel.

movements among the maze of life

over and over again,

caught inside the labyrinth of struggles and triumph,

sometimes out of hatred, being forced,

then perhaps for love, on own accord,

trying to make way

in search of a destination;

following an invitation of the transcendent

yet caught into the muddle of the ludicrous,

trying to hide secrets and guilt that tend to

scuttle out like filthy cockroaches,

chasing silhouette of happiness, groping darkness,

across the zigzag bend,

again one more day with its monotony

like a nagging monsoon drizzle,

again one more night to gather old gashes ...

and the pattern continues …