Momentary Deliverance

Stolen thoughts have been buried somewhere in the near future.
As the mystery train that travels through time
Comes to pick my garbage in the morning;
Of memories and desires that I shagged off through the night
I still skip a beat
For my children of yesterday that went down the drain
Without seeing the darkness of the womb.

As the sun burns over my hair in the morning
I try to click over exposed images of the light filtering through them;
They come out all charred
And the spaces in mind reserved for special thoughts,
Done up exquisitely in red to seem like a developing studio
Give in to the blue hue of timelessness and vacancy.

Regression...
Doesn't deem fit to be quite the phenomenon.
Its a simple word - Falling.

I fall through the rising debris of my semen -
Like a sperm,
Through dead sperms of thought
And recoiled reflexes of action.

Its a state, I have been told -
A phase, a stage, a passing moment in time.
It comes to everyone
And thus is non-new.
I struggle to catch those soothing momentary glances
Who could tell this on my face
And not through some virtual altar
Before which I am kneeling
More since I lost my virginity of the trained mind.

It remains to be a dream to rise again,
And will remain to be so.
Until some fit, bearded, white, old man
Comes to me
All dressed in white
And through his long white hair
Tells me that this was how it was meant to be.
Maybe I shall then rest in time.

But as things stand now,
While it is all still black
Or dark maybe;
While tonight's night is still passing
And the debris rising
Why not I take a moment to console myself
Saying this is how it is meant to be
And rest in the moment
For the time to come?