corpses in love

a poem that’s not wholly satisfying
or a love that’s not complete
could be the worst things
one could feel
everything on the edge
words , left basking in the sun
On the edge of one’s tongue
everything on the edge
the slowing down of life
every emotion laid naked
bare
And undone

this is the worse of the  two
the other is somewhere in England

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a message from the old man

People walk by
thousands and hundreds of them
They walk by the shops
the old man selling peanuts
the lights lighting the way
and me,
On a scooter
rotting away into the night
and then a thousand more people walk by
and it doesn’t make a difference
and it won’t
the cold winds begin to blow
and it’s time to go
I should be going
but I don’t
I sit here
And wait for a thousand more people to walk
I don’t know why.

a firefly

Amidst an eerie night sky
With the constant lining sound of crickets
Came home A Lonely Wandering firefly.

The world was too daunting to face
And his mates, consumed in this race
Toward a certain tree
That they thought would make them free.

He was lost, confused and mislead
or so the world had said ;
He lay still and silent upon the darkened walls of my corridor
Unwanting to listen to more.

There was nothing between him And I
Just the ordained difference between man and a lesser being
Why would one think he was lonely?
Either way, I knew he was not the only.
-Anirudh Shankaran.

nicer things

this is the most comfortable
i’ve been in days
lying down naked in my head
on a lazy dusty wooden desk
lying with my head down
eyes closed
& open in another place
in a classroom
someone throws a paper ball
someone singing songs
someone weeping about their
girlfriend on the next street
in this noise
with half eyes open
there was a peace
unlike any
of the mountains
fields
that i home now,
all i’ve got is this dusty wooden desk
to fly back to the half eyed peace
in my classroom.

I would have gone mad
If not for this
cold home
a half torn shirt hung
glasses lying dirty from a day or three
Someone plays a song somewhere
and someone speaks on the phone
someone drunk
someone in a place far away
if not for this
Dirty warm home
I would have gone mad
the cold wind entering from a hole in the door
a half finished plate
lying cold on the floor
no drunk people drinking the night away
no songs no sound
Just the everlasting silence of a lonely room
and a lonely guy
I would have gone mad
had I stayed.