I see a blind man walking by
And then an old man with a frown for a face
And then a lady without a hand
And then a writer without a pen
And then a child without a ball
And then a singer without a soul
And then a bird without a nest
And then a labourer working without rest

They’re all equally blessed
With their share of sorrow

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Z-sickness

Existing in the day

is such a pain in the ass

all those petty chores, classes

teachers w/glasses

intelligent kids nodding

& I – sleeping.

The sun tears my skin

and I sweat my shirt

walking like a zombie

thru the destitute , bright classroom lobbies

 

I’m fine — much better off eating biscuits after sun set

with a song by the Beatles playing in the background

& Writing this poem

to pass thru the night.

(and into another weird sunshine morning)

Everyone’s getting placed

my friends, my enemies

From school and college

They’re getting placed

And getting placed is good

& Getting paid

& Getting up at 5 to work

as a slave under a fat bellied guy

Who knows everything

 

The experience one gains here is invaluable

jot it down in your resume if you will

Job experience :

2 years a slave in your esteemed slave corporation.

Personal attributes :

can take more than 150 swear words a day

(will not talk back come what may).”

 

the experience is invaluable

& will help fetch a good job

elsewhere in a year or two

 

slavery is dead

they said..

2nd Street

I can’t tell her why I go there
I’m sure she wonders why
I’ve been going there a while
Ever since I turned 15
I go to the same lady
Every time
And ask her the same questions
And she gives me the same answers
I can’t tell her why
I go there
I’m sure she wonders why.

The gentlemen in the bars wearing their bow ties and shiny shoes would have told her why
But not I.
What’s strange is I have been going there for so long
Without a reason
Is it human ?
Or a matter of treason
To do something without reason
I can’t tell her why I go there
I’m sure she wonders why.

I think they’re doing fine

Well fine is what you should be afraid of

Says he

But he also asks me to enjoy the little things in life

Two faced

Touche

I’d rather be alone

Texting poems on my phone.

 

 

Why am I afraid to leave?

Afraid even to go to a place I favour the most?

The stage was set once

I packed my bags with Poe and a few petty things

Set forth and took a few steps

Stopped awhile and felt the fear in me

Creeping, growing and now consuming

fear that maybe that  haven may not be a haven at all

Well that was enough

I swallowed back those steps I took

And back to the old cleaning job I was

So (bored of) comfortable with

Life’s good. (?)

 

Resistance.

What is this parting supposed to mean?

And all the crying

that goes with it?

It’s new

this turf

this bed

it’s rough

And the cold?

I have only been out in the sun

When it is shining bold

 

I can’t find my way back home

 

This thing that you call home

this warm and comfy fortress is but a mirage.

 

The idea of comfort is old

So go

out in the cold

and out of your home- the warmth

Your soul has just been unplugged

Let it now flow.

What are you crying about?

Packed humidity
Unracked humility
The world is spinning all the same
What are you crying about?
Its dead
As stale as air around a dump
You’ve been well fed
What are you crying about?
Darkness and doubt
A third world futuristic worry
I’m done with stories of tomorrow
Borrow, borrow minutes from today
Throw them away
What are you crying about now?
Today or tomorrow?
Or some past wound
Its done
Lets have some fun.

A false sense of optimism.

I was a child when I boarded this train. It wasn’t as fast back then as it is now ; I didn’t want this, not this pace, this hurrying away from faces,places and stories they have to tell you ; Hurrying away toward the destination with no poetry or tale to tell. Only but the want to reach the end, my destination.

I was too young to choose, all the trains were colored the same- A sky kinda blue with a hint of red. Same wheels as the others, windows painted silver. One couldn’t tell the difference. They were all the same.
So I did. I boarded the train. I was an alien there at first, but I slowly got used to the rambling insides and felt quite at home. A host of new people spoke and kept me alive. They’ve all left now. With the passing of every station, they left one by one, bidding me farewell and eventually leaving me here alone. My favourite compartment looks lifeless now, all the bustle and noise, the care of a distant voice, all gone- lifeless without the people it homed and the stories they held. Leaving me here, in this empty (heart) train. The sound of the train jostling back and forth is no more a lullaby. It irritates me. The windows are of no use now. All I can see are flashes and streaks , mere blips of life passing by. i’d rather have them closed. One might wonder, why I still journey thru it all, If I hate it so. If every aspect of it only irks the life out of me, Why do I still journey? I don’t know, I really dont know. But I concede, I have more than once decided to stop journeying, to get down and take a breath of all that is around me.

Why am I still here then? I failed in my attempts to get down, to flee from this self made prison. The train would either be too fast or it would be high upon a bridge w/water down below. I have failed in my attempts and so I am still here, listlessly looking on at the blips of ┬álife light flashing by. I wish I could get down and slowly walk back from where I came- a passenger with no dirt, sorrow or stains. I wish I could, really. But I have come too far and my feet fail to muster up the energy to stand and walk back. There’s nothing left in me to take me back there. All the people who have helped me reach this place, have departed.. taking with them my will to remain here.

But I stay, I continue to remain owing to a false sense of optimism that tells me that there is something more to come, that there was some reason behind all the people who have left led me here. And so I continue , into an unknown tomorrow with the momentum of yesterday and a false sense of optimism.