Famished teenage days

even more famished 

post teenage days.

Were days 

where i was Unable to tuck my brain anywhere.

The hunger and uncertainity meant the same thing

I nibbled on bits of Neitzsche, Spinoza Schopenhauer and others 

like small convenient sandwiches 

Parts of life, ditched, in each days ditches, boring , blank in unfocussed spaces

From which i didnt bother to struggle my  way out.

Though i was tempted,

only Neitzsche committed suicide 

I prefer to say that Spinoza,  Schopenhauer  and the others, they all did,  in some way sorted out their survival.

And today, i hardly remember  what they said, nothing more than just their names.

And, their real or faked suicides helped me to live my life.

Walt Whitman,  the happy vagabond, sang songs like noone else.

And his beard grew into long leaves of grass

He threw truth like thunderbolts 

The Clouds of his words downpoured heavily 

Transiting the 4 seasons of my life

His old chants, twilight songs,unheard sounds of winter, the icicles and lingering last drops,  the dazzle of the day, left me looking for my own words, 

and, i sat writing .

flew like a Raven out of Noah's arch

And returned from God's opaque storms and bleaking skies

Without finding any land.

But, Noah got shipwrecked on some mountain top ( not me...i was boat less)

he couldnt blame  God for it

So he blamed himself.

The fawn and birds jerked out of his groins as children 

(God bestowed him with mighty balls)

And Noah, 

stored in them , each little secret of the universe.

i left Noah's arch, just walked away

as if the flood was a fiction of my own challenging life.

Somedays in which i drowned. 

i walked away till i did'nt know who Noah was

And now as it rains

It rains 

Oh how sweetly it rains.

How the springtime smells beneath it.

And sometimes it takes only a rain

arch to become , an undrownable arch on some timeless ocean.