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Day Twenty Six: Daydreaming

I am here,
Though my mind is anywhere but.

That mind refuses to be caged
In the tight confines of the cranium,
And freely roams the world.

The tragedies of Old
And comedies that are new
Are where you will find mine,
Forever seeking entertainment.

Oftentimes I wonder
Why it leaves me behind.
Take me with you, dear mind,
Don't leave the flesh behind on this planet.

Yet the mind will forever only watch,
Never feel the emotions that
It travels Fact and Fiction to see.

I suppose,
In this sense,
A closed cage is better than
Never feeling what one sees.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Twenty Four: A Thought On The Human Mind

I suppose the reason I find the human mind the most rotten of all is only because it is the only one I know and understand. 
There could be something way more malicious, but a human being would never know, for one can only truly communicate with other humans. 
...
How terrifying.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Twenty One: Foreshadowing?

I was out on a stroll,
Now usual, I suppose,
Yet today I found,
Another most curious view.

It was high up,
A rather peculiar looking cloud,
And it took looking twice,
For my mind to make a discernable shape.

In all its abstract beauty, 
I could see a bird
Flying out of a cloud of smoke
At least, that is what I perceived.

Twenty minutes later,
Is when my curious sight 
Comes to the corner of my eye.
I noticed that a bird was struck down.

It was not a natural death,
Far from it, really,
A few stray cats in the locality
Had caught it while hunting.

And upon looking at its dismembered corpse,
Hanging from a kitten's mouth,
I could only feel 
That I had seen that bird before.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Twenty: Eagles

Amongst the overflow of chatter between the unruly pigeons,
The call of an Eagle is so distinct.
In a mundane stroll devoid of much to think,
It heralds, finally, some excitement to the mind.

It spreads its majestic wings
Of span greater than most winged beasts, 
It has made itself ruler of these skies
By circling around its land and pride.

More often than not,
I can hear its call,
Yet not see its figure,
For it is above the clouds.

It screeches across its clear skies,
And glides over building and tree alike,
It seems to be hunting,
Chasing its luck like throwing dice,

Yet doesn't seem to find prey tonight.
And today, it might go to its nest
Without much in beak, but a few scraps.
After all, it is truly a miracle 
That food can still be considered available. 

Its life in this urban landscape,
Is a struggle through which it must persist,
Yet nature will not go astray,
And these eagles will find their way.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Eighteen: A Day Out

Oftentimes I find myself
Merely sulking in the depths of my sheets,
And it is just as often
I forget how good a day out feels.

A brisk walk to a mall,
An often overlooked luxury now,
Was a wonderful place to fall
Into the many spirals of conversation with friends around.

Minutes turned to hours
As we continually talked in peace,
And as we presented our views,
We caught up on flying bits of news.

Movies turned to books
And books to political outlooks
As we openly expressed, but also collectively felt.
Eventually, we will always find camaraderie.

At the end of the day,
With muscles stretched and spirit refreshed,
I returned,
Only to sulk in my bed again.

– Maya Desdemona

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Day Seventeen: My Greatest Critic

To my greatest critic,
Both a friend and foe in life,
The one I am never rid of,
Whose words only fester in my mind.

You are verbally cruel and physically nonexistent.
Your words are like daggers thrown at my unfeeling sentiments,
Your thoughts like salt in a wound.
Yet I live and breathe with your advice.

For you have no voice of your own,
You must borrow mine
In hopes that your many insults
May find some life.

"What soulless work!"
You exclaimed once,
With such bitterness
One could mistake
Such expression for loathing.

Your thoughts could slit throats
Without a drop of blood spilling,
A curated silence due to their sharp nature.
Yet I would not be this way without your guidance.

Another time you pondered,
"What self-centered thoughts you have..."
Your intentions not malicious,
But only when I question the Self.

Brashly and bluntly you state,
The most personal of comments,
Locked in the dredges of the mind
Forever to remain although never voiced for another.

How could you get away with this?
The reader may wonder,
But the answer
Is much closer than what one believes.

To you, my critic,
You have choice but to 
Cling to me like a parasite
For you are too correct.

I am you,
And you are me.
There is no escape 
For either of us.






– Maya Desdemona