Poetry to me

All art is meaningless.
Because meanings are
Always so contextual!
But Art aspires for universal.

And strange it is...
What makes it One,
Is also what is its pain
Of being unwarranted.

So is poetry nothing
But the joy of fulfilling,
What was unachievable
In the rigour of real life?

So the performer wears
a costume in bright colors.
And the music behind
Way too loud and jarring!

Is poetry the lion roaring
Under the circus lights!
Yet happy in a cramped cage
Alone in the pale moonlight...

Is poetry the book half read
And buried in sands of time?
Your mind fills in the rest...
The protagonist is you now.

And is poetry nothing but a poem,
Incomplete... waiting for ending lines?

Countdown

Yes the countdown begins
For the epic finale.
No more compromises
There'll be fireworks this time!

No more

I know how it feels,
Because I'm you
And you are me...

The horizon endless...
The sky too high;
Maybe I'll dig below.

To find a place,
To rest my head
And subside...

Waters overflow
Do I hear the wind
Singing to me?

And I finally
Rise up from
The sticky muck.

Float with the clouds...
So light and feathery
And rain my heart out!

And I'm lighter now,
Still floating...
A little more to reach!

Then the endless
darkness envelops me.
And I am one!

I am no more
I am no more
I am no more