Floundering, floundering, forever floundering

To take a peek at the droplets of eternity,

To find the ripples of truth,

And make a sonnet out of it.

But all I have done cumulated in vain.

taken a vow to remain distant from me.

It's dancing on the edge, like a teasing bee.

How can it not recognise my palpable agony?

Dissipated, my thoughts wander finally

taking refuge in sleep.

That night, I am visited by a shimmering voice.

The voice whirls around my mind mockingly

After it's done with its charade.

It comes to me whispering and finally

The formless voice takes a shape.  

It leaves me feeling like a preposterous fool.

A fool who has been blindsided

By the sheer obsession with the ostentatious mystique.

The river of dreams, the mischief of clouds,

The crescent moon, the ocean waves and,

The moon skull.

Dandelions, tulips, the hundred colors of spring,

The strange sound of crushed bones, the tragic death of winter leaves.

Sunlight rippling out of the winter sun and emanating warmth, a lover's rushed heartbeat – a sonnet can be found in these.

The droplets of eternity are a maze.  

And to embrace the ordinariness of life is the key to it.