Second hand

Unable to perceive their endurance
The fumes and smoke gave up on their life
In front of
Lava that erupted after a thousand years
They all subsided, all shrunk
It was a sad encounter, brief
And then it was gone
Taken by the wind
They were replaced
By new
Not yet broken
Not yet true
Ducklings directionless in the middle of a map
They had nowhere to go, they could go anywhere
Why didn’t they?
“Move! There’s a train headed your way!
Can’t you hear the bell rings?
What are you doing?”

And just like that every good memory feels like a train passing
From the same height, the same railway.
And you’re paving your own boulevard
Maybe alone on a bike, maybe an addictive carousel
It’s carrying your burdens, lying to you.

This chimney, this roof, like a folding of the arms
When warmth is doing you no favor
And the kettle singing up to its nose, loves drowning.
They are like the weather that we’re glued to
Inside our heads
When we think of a comfort zone that murders the passions of the soul.

Why can’t sweets be stronger?
There are things inside me that poison can’t reveal
Its a tiny seedling that I once planted when I didn’t know any better
Look where it took me, its roots now devour my heart

It deserves it, it was never meant to be free
That’s why our ribs are cages!

The warmest feeling, of sun on a cold day
Remains all year
Even if temperature dropped,
Lower than your knees
Would you then kneel,
to the prison that you made?
It’s getting smaller with each day
Your bones are decaying, every joint, arthritis is in no way, what it is to the old
I haven’t even felt anything
I haven’t even painted my walls green yet

Every stone reunites with its kind
All these years it had been too kind
With all the hands that called it ‘mine’
Seldom knew what it meant to detach from time

In the eyes that moisture seas
Or the hair that camouflages furr
I felt like a whale in a little pond
Or a Philipine eagle in between an extinct zoo

I hope this thought is true, I hope my future is with you
Or has this been programmed to me,
Was it the transplant?
Or was it skin that soothes teeth?
I don’t know what it is to feel owned, I’m second hand
Lower than the resale value
The only reason I’m bought
Is because I’m still working without input.

Might as well…

Blame games

No one left to blame
It’s a synthesis of colour variations in a prism
That were stripped off of something essential
Dominated by black and white, estranged
Even grey did not look back at its merging schism


Such complexities
And yet
Answers so simple
We cannot possibly conform to
Because we love the depths of all we can’t comprehend

Like the painter who highlighted the mole on Mona Lisa’s cheek
Instead of focusing on her mystery
Sometimes, the way a horse’s mane rearranges its character,
Says more of such struggle, treading uphill.

The stroke of each brush, was the record of your existence,

the authority of your movement.

Each gesture, the quality of your thoughts.


Nobody likes depicting the enigmas of nature
In a jar
Transparent on the outside
Formulated with the energies of, owls staying up all night to protect trees
Delaying the night and its sermon, diverting hunters’ attention,
To its beak, small, tiny. Bending further for your shame, and wise old sayings

Frames could no longer keep pictures intact
They were falling, outlines deforming
Like oranges dismissing their sourness
And thrown away.
Nobody wanted to taste mandarins anyway,
If it’s labelled as sour, than it must be sour
What other description do you need?

All the labels we are given, fit into a box
They just don’t know that it has been vandalized
Opened at midnight
Stolen from
Carefully
Like opening a sealed letter without tearing it apart
Memorizing all the confidential
And then closing it
Neat and fine
Blowing away the dust too, in case they doubt

Stepping stones, and stamps
Footprints left in a crime scene
What could anyone possibly expect from identity theft?
We have been naked ever since we bartered ourselves for sewing machines that don’t work

They say we should let flowers be
In their shields of friends and fields
So their form is preserved
So we don’t possess them for all they were
But I guess both could win
If we distilled them to perfume
Of the most rare, exquisite kind
This way, their scent could presume to be
Worthy of immortality, fame and honor
Seducing time
To cover up its age
Amidst fresh inventions
And jealousies

Sooner or later
Its elements would fail
To flavour themselves
Their craving no longer a reason
To satisfy need

Why make a pathway and then erase it for a gate?
Security, promises, hope prolonged
What is the purpose
Of flies who do not drink the drunken,
or of the Phoenix burning on synthetic oil?
So much for being a legend
So much for being eachother
Vaguely under microscopes
Hiding cells and transformations
To not hurt your feelings…

Slipping away

Deal with the clouds sucking back their rain
Upwards it flows, piercing flesh like darts through cloth
Look
Laughter reached its peak, turned into a shriek
How come?

Weeds in your garden slaughtered jasmines
Only so you wouldn’t worry about watering them anymore
Their spirit, and scent, is now distilled

And you’re slipping away.

All these flimsy threads will escape the clothes they kept intact
Unwoven, simple, divergent they will lay
What was a weed, anyway?

A plant nobody planted,
A seed breaking loose, desperate to burn out, turning the rest bitter

It’s easy to find beauty in between the foldings of a rose,

But can you really find it in between cunning cracks next door?

Like used tissues, like tangled hair, like a restless glare

You are now an outsider, to the outsider world itself

Fish will keep fighting eachother, they don’t have anywhere else to go

Maybe rumblefish will headbang and turn sane

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You were still for so long, air passed around you, not through you

You’re the friction a matchstick needs to light up the world on fire
And you are its exhaust at the same time

You’re climbing a ladder made of snow
Everything you touch dissolves into what’s bellow

The dust you spent years cleaning(hiding)
Will catch on to the heat and to your knees, in a desert where

scorpions will inform you before they bite, and you’ll think

they were trading venom for a life

And this mutation of the cells
wrinkled with mistakes
It’s like I’m feeding off of wisdom in between ignorance
The more I know the more I see how less I know
And these trivialities are so pure
Like a kite made out of a plastic bag, flown by a clueless child
Whose blistered hands now control his life

I love slipping in the mud
It’s like a flight on its own, doesn’t even hurt
Till quite after when you see the bruises
Isn’t that what illusion does..

And then I draw myself again, and I’m invisible

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It’s like I skipped past the part where everything’s high pitched

And I only hear the lows
That’s the proudest I’ve been of my own default

And if all wrongs add up to one right
Know that there is more to this

Than you and me

Than them and they,

and us against a distant play

an illusion you will smile at one day.

A mask under a mask

For what is confusion but clarity neglected?

For what it is we do but can’t decipher

When an hour yearns for another affliction,

a massacre, a battle won, a war lost within a stutter?

Growing weaker day by day, a blow softens the skies

Its skin without skin and a naked void, masking our roots raw and guile, cruel opinion

A shadow flees from its materiality; ‘admire magic as if you were it’

Fantasies felt oblivious to the idea of creation creating creatures created for dominion

 Why blame riot and revolt for calling a caterpillar a snake with wings?

Home to trees too big, too tall, but with branches too delicate, leaves too dry

I hope this made you look at thick and thin, in a different way, not as twins

Of the same species, definitely not the same seedling you implanted, on the mind you live by

Never too far, never too attached are we

To the binding that sets our days a time to be

Where a question falls in love with its answer, an acute perception

Or grants a golden lion tamarin, a fiery heart, a roar, a chant, an applause for what it could’ve been.

Pigments on skin

The pigments on our skin

Get to a point where

They absorb more than they let out

And this clogs our walls of exposure

This feeling of emptiness we try to fill

With disappointments we think we’ll turn around

And passive aggressively walk our storm

From the ones we use but love

And hate

This is a mirage

This reflection

It’s like a soul staring at its trapped being

How could you stare for hours contemplating your molded features?

Like tucking a kite to a chair and rocking it with inertia

Lately it’s been hard to reach

Consciousness

For it finds ways to hide

That too, professionally

It crawls onto corners we don’t want to visit

And so we don’t

And so it shrinks

To the point where it takes over its own demise

And leaves us vulnerable

Our own mind leaves us vulnerable

Our own thoughts want to flee

Stars turn to butter and slide down from their fixes

If they don’t belong in the blackness of the night

I wonder what does

Sooner or later

The moon will howl at wolves and tell them it’s all in vain

It’s like a splendid breaking of the dawn

Has anyone ever noticed

The rays of gold, and yet not so gold, that mark the mist?

How clouds welcome smoke, how fog greets the dust

How birds, raging with bitter truths, pause for a minute

Wanting to reach the sun,

Till they are reminded that flight doesn’t last

For as long as

Memories do

For the eyes see past the superficial

Let the blacksmith do what it was born for

Will ones intentions define what it sets out to be?

Balancing scales, by canceling either
Bliss triggering sin

Leaving its iron wrought

Wishing it were wood, with hopes

Of metamorphosing to the extremes of

Forgetting what it was

Before it was cut

Behind the bushes, where squirrels hide

Are peanuts falling from nowhere

That’s us behind castles

Trying to mend another brick on the wall

I don’t remember the last time

An atlas misguided a tourist on his quest

Then why does my radar’s needle

Point me to my escapes?

This heart, an unkind beast

Picking up the pieces

Yet, leaving your belongings

A beggar offering hand-stitched love

Like a mannequin pulling the threads itself

For a show

To his master

‘Keep thy word sworn to thyself’

For one broken rule, breaks them all

Purpose lost, is purpose found

We cut ourselves to make paper, it burns its ashes away

To lose trace of its worth

The ceiling closes in on me

As if I were trapped inside a jewel

And its mesmerizing reflection

Was that of my illusions

Bouncing on all fours

Explosions calmed

The more frayed, the more it shone

Till it blinded those getting close

Bewitching the ones that didn’t know

That

Not all that glitters is gold

Only I,

Can make it rain in my own drought

Alone

Not lonesome

Lonely

Or lone

Medieval era again

And the dragon slays its throat

For envisioning the future we would live in

The phoenix

Does not rise from the ashes it sprung onto

Instead

It decided to conquer the skies

With the good it shouldn’t have battled

Dreams spoke to their roots

And traded lives with fireworks

Up the horizon

At least they

Burnt down to their own reality

We had no reality to die for

Live for

Wish for

Or regret

The island for the forgotten

Contains all the thoughts suppressed

These are the inexplicable

Long silences

Even longer sighs

That revive with the rest

Where all the dust we blew, or wiped clean

Where all the laughs we shared, in our heads

Where all the burdens that were deaf, with all the feelings that couldn’t feel themselves

That’s why

The iris sharpens

When it sees it’s pray

Or why goosebumps, let us know

Of the callings of the instincts

To the seasons that promised wouldn’t change

You can emancipate yourself from dependency,

This way, be a tree without a seed

You wouldn’t have to blame

Naive seedlings

For investing in crops without a harvest

Of all the universe folded within your eyes

Or the one you create with graphite

To meet flesh with outlines

And color the sunset with your blood

Lead for me a path

With no return

The one I’m walking

Is making a fool out of me

For driving in circles

Through a squared entrance

Whoever invented time

Must’ve been real sick

Of not knowing

When to walk up, or when to walk away.

We are but empty bottles rattling with

Water

Begging

For a sip

Of the ocean

We neglected

When we were full

Peacocks lose their feathers

Their most important invasion of privacy

By ostriches

Digging their heads underground

And finding the secret music

To which these hypnotizing agents

Danced to, creating magnetic waves

That attracted

Both the poles

To whatever may

Without escape

Simple

Unapologetic

And yet

You want to keep parts of yourself

Like holding on to hot coal

And being happy

With burnt tattoos

That you give meaning to

Because you hate gaps

You want to know

Which degree required the lasting effect

Of your works

The smoke we filled our lungs with

Let us live

It thought

‘Why destroy someone, busy destroying itself’?

Such were loaded guns mistaken for words

From a tongue that spoke with lisps

Till it outgrew

Its silence

Such were the fates of men

Horses tied up

Picking dogs instead

Swords latched onto boats

Using arches instead

Risking the two steps

That ceased to let you think

Of more than

Eyes that saw the corners of your soul

And so my pockets, drew some holes
Accumulated coins, now kissed the floor

Because the burden of all I’ve wrecked

Now wanted to wreck me

Useless verbiage

And qualified vocabulary

Couldn’t mold my sapphire

Into silver

Now could it?

I painted my fingers white

And my eyes yellow

I rub them against nights

so they shine beams

of the alright

and show me the way

I cut my hair four inches short

So it didn’t get in the way

Of winds stroking my face

With clarity

So it didn’t disturb

The peace I felt

When I recognized something real

Can you invent a syndrome

Of the chronically ill with disgust?

Caverning in caves

One for each

So that solitude

Reminds the sick

Of what they missed about the depths of their selves

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Why are people so afraid of imprisonment

When they have created far more within their heads?

Too little too late

For realizations my friend

Spinning in the tornado

Looked like it knew what it was doing

Better to burn out that fade away

How low?

I just threw away the memories

Flushed ‘em down the drain

In two seconds

What a relief

No wonder waterfalls never stopped flowing

Nothing and no one is worth pausing life for

But hey,

What if it did?

What would you do with a stuck waterfall behind your shoulders, anyway?

Would you flatten the land so it flows ahead, instead of below

See the irony?

Let it die

Infamous praise

How many fingers should I count
Before I cut them one by one
I forget sometimes,
How some things don’t really re-grow


Just the other day
I was photographed with great admiration
In a cage
By a monkey
Who got so bored of its freedom
That it kept mine
I laughed
At how he fell
On banana peels he just ate himself


On nights
I shrunk and burst into fireworks
By chameleons getting tired of their own colours
Now white, now safe.
Had only albinos seen them, for the screams that curled their tails


Evenings passed,
I marveled at how a blazing sun
Took shade on all its pink
And mist
And chaos
Before going to sleep
Was this its way of telling
It wanted out?
If beauty and power and control
Didn’t make it want to live
Neither did I


I often lose myself
When sniffing on corners
Trying to allocate
Dust with dust
And perk with perk
I didn’t recall ever, catching pollen’s grin
So much had happened, it had forgotten its air, grain, trigger
And influence
Over those neglecting theirs


How naive was I
For the stain was on my face
And all my life, I spent tugging my mirrors clean


If you could view my face
From paper bags
And man made flasks
Would you find it funny
If I collapsed
On the floor teaching me dance?


Can somebody else ride this bike for me?
It can’t seem to stop
Pedaling away from me
As if
It wanted to escape
The rubber wanting to split
And the wheels fiercely brim
On fluctuating landscapes
It wanted to be
On its own


The hair
You tucked behind your ears
Felt like a slam on the door
By the secrets that rose ashore
that waves washed away.
Can I empty my pockets
With the stones I’ve been collecting
Trying to give them meaning over
Solid future?
Silly me, for most had gone
Through this pocket betrayed by a hole
They flew free from


And the whole world rose to its feet
When I kneeled down to my street
Too many times
Did I carve its walls
With battles I won but lost
I vandalized
And raged on meat
Using it as punch bag
To admit defeat
Far more
Did I cause alarm
Over my neighbours door
When I prank called his mother in the hospital
Telling her he was dead
I shot pigeons with creamed feathers
Because the view of their opened wings
Made me empty bottles
Which I later used to abuse
The wrists these veins explained their name on
Its dead end
Was all I kept clean
For I knew no matter what
It would still wait for me
And shelter me some sleep
And that’s when I dreamt of you
Like a nightingale with the bluest beak
Poking my head
Reassuring me
That the walls I tore down
Were already weak
They were replaced by height
That shooed away the floods
Nobody could have anticipated
That the meat I didn’t let my people eat
Was from cattle that they didnt feed
That the neighbours I disturbed
Needed to meet, all the songs they had produced
And sung
In reverse
That the flocks of beauty
I prevented everyone else from adoring
Blurred out all the skies
That had truly let them fly
And the empty bottles
Were my quill
When it wrote not on paper
But my skin


And just like that it rose
With a seed between its beak
To what I woke up
And found my distant home.

A long way to go

How dreadful to want to be a human, other than a

soul having a human experience

Taking each day with its stay

As a hopeless return to innocence gone astray


Guidance can never pull a thread

Without breaking another

And this guarantees the ill-will

Of seeking the most wretched clay

Trying to mould yourself a new way

A new sculpture

To bow to

And find shade

Until  rain melts it to its fate


Friction on stones, creates fire

Much more than hands rubbing,

Hitch-hiking, for the same warmth

Inducing the same amount of need, effort and greed

a buyer can decipher to you

On a scale


There is a school to every thought

Just like a stop to every bus, and route to every train

Passing by as if,

there was room enough for entire cities

but enslaved only the naive, only the capable, only the willing

to change


Could you speak to me the vows you make

when your eyes meet flesh, and flesh averts to bone,

Bone decays with ligaments

trying to control what they can’t: movement

And this is how paralysis of the mind grows

Leaving restless, the doubts of the unknown


And then you go to sleep, but how long have you really been awake?

It’s like diving into a pool of jelly, and bouncing back hysterical..