Memorabilia

Fear is induced, not intrinsic
‘One man’s trash, is another man’s treasure’
It’s a wave crashing the survivors
Death in itself a life, survival

The sound of the bugle
Lets you hold on to the feeling
Stunted growth, yellow leaves
An oak tree poisoned by your baggy sleeves

An old man counting his own wrinkles
He knows what he’s looking at,
A red carpet turning blue
A shiny armour, baggage rusted

The quicker you slay the demon
The more you tempt the alpha
The more calculated each growl; for territory
Under your den

You have created a shelter
For the wicked
You have sealed unread warnings
Without remembering their name

A name
A calling
And it’s their head that turns
When you applaud the random

Don’t rub it in, don’t praise the thumb
It’s the detailed print, embarking spaces left for the wild winds
Memorabilia
Sticky feet on the walk of Fame

The effect that makes you cringe
The lies that make you smile
Window shopping by the dead sea
Tasting nothing but salt

A mad dog, unleashed
Barking at its own reflection up the sky
The pursuit of a noble pursuit
Makes you lose grip of the moral

Raise your head, lower your eyes
‘Don’t look at me’
Looking at the enemy, makes you lose focus
Of the idea you’re defending

Cards unfolding, spreading at the turning table
A locker screaming open its own code
Jacks and queens, bow down to the Joker
It, unable to laugh twice at the same joke

Kiss their feet with your tongue
As if mint could ever cover the filth
Be a foul mouth, be absurd
Crossing the line, is not a literal term anyway

Trying to figure myself out, in others
Pictures capture your entire soul
Each shot a mystery of unlit rooms
Red flags are not alarming, they bring out the dangers whitin yourself

You don’t see seeds rupture as they bring forth a tinier seedling
Just tonight, they lit the underground world
With the birth of a no name
Another pretend, claiming to be an original…

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Nature’s cruelty

Time plays tricks on the mind and soul
Tired of all this itching, claiming to be pure
Maybe the den can call out on all its wolves
And let the full moon mourn over the calls

of all these midnight storms

Idols want to be normal
Maybe fame wants to disappear

I wish the world was gray, but even then,

the ‘gray’ would be grayer even without colour

superior than some, darker than the sun,

lighter than from where we had once begun.

And the rest were easy come, easy go

Dust blew itself away
From books that were read but never understood
And nature collapsed on the floor, into the dirt, beneath its own roots
Asked itself if it was ready to diffuse, away from this abuse

Hunger can never kill appetite
Shame, for you were the fly going after leftovers!
The rest splashed onto oceans like cannonballs, while you only got the spits, the drops

Let’s hear the train of thoughts that went by uninvited,
Tempting the side blood brothers feared to taint

A walking contradiction
A mysterious reason to slow down, to settle down
Why settle down? When discomfort is the sweetest home
Let them be, the crazies, where will they flee?
Prejudice never stood a chance

Couldn’t resist to stare at an owl,

All this time you only wondered as to why it stared at you.

Then later, laughed at yourself when it pissed on your shoulder,

‘Man, nature’s cruel.’

And then you acknowledged the fact that

everything and everyone carried dirty little secrets…

You started wishing to swim in the mud and come out clean
To blindly remove a blindfold and suck the life out of a rabbit hole
To knock on tree trunks for ants to emerge to the surface, 
Then call an anteater to fix the ugly.

Paper plane on a stone

Wouldn’t trade it for the world

I see a paper plane

sit on a stone, commonplace, nothing grand

made by an anonymous entity

˜ ˜ ˜

It doesn’t have propellers, not even an engine, not even a life

And yet,

with a single touch of wind,

spreads itself like a drop of water

expanded

on a flat surface.

˜ ˜ ˜

And yet, so delicately,

flip, flap,

flip

and

flap

˜ ˜ ˜

Whoever made it, wanted it to stay,

even without staying

For it was attached to the stone

with a string

That too,

about to lose itself, still hanging on

˜ ˜ ˜

And in a fine moment of detachment

to be in yet out of myself

into it

˜ ˜ ˜

I looked at it

like a ghost cat

looking at the world,

in the seconds it comes to contact with a sun

it avoided

‘Beautiful things don’t ask for attention’

˜ ˜ ˜

Telling time to stop

and retrospect

to its own

distraction of flight

˜ ˜ ˜

Takes a while

to stop time

Takes a while to notice something so small

For God’s sake

Forget the skies!

They’re carved onto your own fingerprints

and you still thought you noticed everything…

˜ ˜ ˜

Do you understand?

Do you?

˜ ˜ ˜

An ant struggles when it rains

Every drop, is a grenade

dropping all the burdens

the clouds carry for us

They speak all we couldn’t

‘Shhh’ let it be

let it carry you away

˜ ˜ ˜

Just know,

that liking rain

doesn’t mean

you’re evil,

It just means

that

it’s somebody else’s turn

to soak

˜ ˜ ˜

And come out clean

to their own idea of being

˜ ˜ ˜

Maybe one day the string

like clogged veins that cause a heart attack

will cry helpless

˜ ˜ ˜

But that day

its flight will come to recede

Trying to accept that it’s not

something to keep

Without the risk, of needing to speed

when it slows down

sticking

to a stone that watches it bleed