wanderlust

this is a strange place,
where i,alien to my own people,
live out my days…
a place of contradictions,
or perhaps the contradiction is me…
but i would not die here,
embraced by strangers,
a strange cairn of unfamiliar stones shall not be my monument,
when i leave,
with a few scribbled words my legacy.
better alone-
still searching for the meanings,
than a bloated consignee of semantic goodies….

this world is inebriating,
and i seem drunk-
high;as on crack and grass,
floating the depths,
flying to the nadir..
i shall die one day;
united with the dust and sludge-
a speck to float down the drains..
that will be my existance then-
the ultimate truth-mixed with the mire..
and served by life,
one small helping at a time,
till even hell becomes bloated,
like an abhorred heaven….