Don’t dream about it

Undulating on our way to the finish line

At docks with ships waiting for nothing

I pace

You starve

We figure eachother out

 

The difference between your cunningness and his naivety

Is that one thread that holds the soul intact

Had you an art for it, rather than a way to get away

With it

I wouldn’t have to spell it out for you

 

Portions, fractions, ratios

To stigmatize the dog for being restless

For the night to be too demanding, on the loaded, rolling on it

Find a better way to say it, man. What does you in?

 

Do you, buddy.

Kindle on the flame that remains pure

After burning off all that you look for, about, like firewood

Lay it to rest. Don’t think about it, don’t talk about it, don’t dream about it.

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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…

The world is fine

If people wanted to see only the things they wanted to comprehend
They wouldn’t have to go to theaters
Dumpsters would’ve sufficed

My mind
Taking photographs

Staring long enough at a distant shore
Until it reminds me of
the times I discard
Tragedy for comfort
and memory, for bliss

The most forgotten things
Swirl at their own fade
And yet
They run
Towards a spiral
That sucks their age
Only to make them
Younger again

It’s like a cloud that eats another cloud
Because it found itself irresistible
Tasted like cotton candy
But
Puked itself away
Only to
Scatter in the midst
Of pieces
Of its own flesh

Or maybe
A chair that didn’t want to be sat on
Because it was tired of kissing backs

Or fragrance
That didn’t want to be wasted
On odor of the most repulsive kind

Why do people
Have to repaint
What was painted over well at first?
Guess the need to maintain an image
with another image
onto another
makes people think, you have a dynamic personality
And that’s how master pieces are judged
‘Look, I made this mess
Into another mess
So you could see yourself in it
And stare in awe at your own reflection’

Ink
Was tired
Of pouring itself over pure sheets
And wasting itself over rotten thoughts
As if they ever benefited, the need to avoid silence
It wanted
The writers’ fingers
To dip in it
And rub a blot
Over a nose
That had forgotten the smell
Of his own ideas

Could you really
Trip on shoes you wore
two sizes big?
Than why
Do you untangle
Hair
That wants to be braided?

It takes a second heart
To rip a chest wide
And be more
But we gain what we risk
At jeopardy

It’s a twisted thought
A needle
On masses
Of communications
Controlling the whole circuit!
Turn it one way
And only one channel sings
Turn it another
And another hits a home run
Turn it up
And they want it off
Turn it low
Cover your ears
Tell them
Its the signals
that don’t work
The world is fine
The world is fine.

Unfinished bridges

Emptying a mind

Containing too much

The human mind

Isn’t it amazing?

It can adjust a whole lot to it,

It can adjust anything to it…

And so, you do what you got to do

to give unfrequented thoughts the companionship they need

By reading someone else’s

By trying to fit, into someone else’s.


Sometimes
It’s just a craving
To wind up different clocks
You stopped looking at

They still tick
If you don’t look at something
Doesn’t it become useless?
And yet
The useless
Becomes useful
Only when it’s noticed
By someone
Getting tired
Of his own boredom

It’s pathetic
This habit
‘Beauty, only beauty, when noticed.’
I guess
I fall in love with destroyed places
Because they had once been beautiful
But tragedy happens
And not everything
Wants
To be discovered

Isn’t it true though?
people dig up past
Only when it’s dirty

Isn’t it false though?
People only care
When you care

I feel old
‘Old’
Such a small word
In a big world
And yet
You value its existence
Only when you’re tired
And want youth
To do for you
What you couldn’t do for you.
Like a bridge you built
Unfinished
Almost crossed it
Jumped near it’s end, it still needed a few more bricks
But this youth
Can’t even cross it midway
And yet
You expect them
To build another one
Because after crossing it yourself
You tore it down
And raised a flag
To signal them
That you made it

Red waves
In a sea
Red floods
In a river
The seas now cry
Bloodshed eyes
Why did you slit open a shark in half
Only cause’ you thought it dangerous?
You could’ve limited the lines!
You could’ve put a sign
DO NOT CROSS
YOU TWATS
YOU HAVE 99% OF THE WORLD
LEAVE THIS 1% ALONE

It’s sickening
The need to want to own it all
If I can’t have peace at heart
And you feel peaceful around me
Where would that leave me?
It’s like
‘Hey, I’ve had my lunch
Wanna have dessert’?
While they know
That you haven’t eaten
In three days

And the sad part is
You don’t even like the look
Of your reflection
On a crystal clean
Wiped table
While you wait
For a waiter
Waiting
For his shining armor
To turn into a suit
And sue himself
For marketing the food
He didn’t even like himself.