Tomic Riter

Tag: poet

  • In other world.

    As I read about a man without a shadow, I fail to comprehend it. Does not having a shadow affect that man’s conduct in any way? Can that really, finally, make him feel lonely? As a matter of fact, I have neved lived without my shadow. Even in absolute darkness, a shadow exists, only its colour is the same as that of the darkness and hence its outline cannot be recognised. But it exists and it hardly breaks unless the body itself breaks. The shadowless man makes me think all this. Had I not read about him, I would have been going along fine.

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  • Quarter to evening.

    swollen veins in my body

    free from sweat

    free from a fear

    I sit full of pain

    orange light fills the room

    next to mine

    somebody has arrived

    another family, another kid,

    another television running

    another bunch of unnecessary talks

    I walk myself away from the light

    an hour later, I start forgetting.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Just gazing above.

    I will sit for another hour

    until the last particle of light is gone

    but soon a disturbance will come

    flying towards my body

    and I would be surprised

    if that is not able to make me

    move from here

    to some other place

    until then, I will watch gold

    drink gold, grow my neck stiffer

    just in case the blade lost its sharpness.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Before time.

    Darkness is gathering around me. Were I new here, I wouldn’t have been able to walk even a step. After thirty minutes or so, I return. A barking dog roams in wet skin. Now and then, something lights up, but not for long. Cold is becoming hot and I cannot do anything about it, about anything. No song has got a voice. It’s just me searching for a new addiction. A man climbs the road and where will he stop? Where will he stop if he ever decides to.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Collapse.

    I had a desire. I had to go home to fulfill that desire. Once I was at home, the desire was gone on its own. I didn’t have to make any effort. I simply forgot. No pain was brought to me in forgetting. Then, another desire arose and soon it was forgotten too. Just like that. I lost the will. Nietzsche used to say that will is important to live. He eventually committed suicide. The same noise fills my each day. I could walk out of here but this world is vast and it seems out of my reach. Between me standing up and me walking to the door, I am really not aware of how much time elapses.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Covering slowly.

    blue has legs

    it covers all the white space

    it can flow

    if you look at it carefully, you will find that it can

    a subtle movement

    towards the west, grey is bursting out of white

    towards the north, a painting hangs, all white

    cloud fucking cloud

    shit bags like Picasso could never make such an artwork

    time to travel south but I do not know where

    I watch them who know and are traveling.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Drunk in no rain.

    I have a perspective. While I write, I just write shit. There is no truth to find in my words. All of it is all that I have found. I am tired of thoughts and opinions, tired of seeing people talking and doing nothing. It takes less time and minimal effort to act than to talk and talk and talk. I do not know what men, most of them, are up to. By the time they have spent three decades of their life, they realise that they are nowhere, they are struggling to crawl out of some deep swamp. I am tired of watching that, and I am tired of watching man pushing himself in such a swamp. Big fucking idiots. All of them.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Birdsongs.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter.

    twilight wind carries everywhere

    birdsongs

    trees are hanging from the sky

    penetrating these walls

    their roots rising from my fingertips

    I could have sipped all this dirty water

    that was clean before it fell down

    sometimes, traveling miles gives nothing

    other than vast green fields and no talks

    birdsongs die and gold washes away

    from the sky.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • With half eyes.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter.

    The clouds seem unreachable, but are they? With this thought, I continue to look at them as they change colours and form and positions, as I change my own position and strive to become formless. I close my eyes, sometimes that enables me to listen to my own breath and feel how it empties me and fills me in no time, again and again. It doesn’t get tired like I do. The sunlight makes me dizzy. Only if the sun hung like this for an hour and kept shining on me like it does right now. But that won’t be happening. Night will come and I wonder what I will be doing then.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • A night without light.

    A couple of hours before midnight, the guitars started plucking their own strings. A man was singing from somewhere deep down in his stomach. Following him, another voice rose and it was that of a woman. I had returned home from a long, pointless drill. Soon after that, the man ran away and the woman changed and so did her voice. The guitars broke and got replaced with drums and echoes. I made myself a bowl of hot soup and drank half and threw the rest of it. I ate something that I cannot remember now. However much I worked on it, I just couldn’t keep the insects out for long. They always found a way. They danced around me, sat on my hands, sipped my blood. They were leading better, more peaceful lives than I. The home looked fresh but only for a couple of days. After that, I always forgot and I didn’t care about how it looked. Another man started singing, and this time, he had a banjo sticking out of his windpipe. After a minute of hearing, any song became old.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.