on June 21, 2009

I go to a temple.
I bow before Thee.
I look at the stray dogs.
I feed the stray kids.

I go to a hang-out.
I smoke a fag.
I sip at stale tea.
I kill an ant.

I don't get intoxicated after 3 of 'em.
I wonder how my friend does.
I sip at some more tea.
I break into a violent cough.

I try to cry.
I feel dry eyes and a dry soul.
I see that the ends of my friend's eyes are watered.
I feel good for him, better for his soul.

I get bitten by the same ant I killed ... or ... I tried to.
I deliver a one-liner, "Tears mark the beginning of pain!"
I see my friend nods.
I see him break into a wail.

I have my head held in my hands.
I move my fingers through my hair.
I can sense the inherent gloom in the lovely evening sky.
I feel as if my heart is being razed, layer by layer.

I get up, walk up to my bike.
I caress it, feel all the scars again.
I give it a peck where its cheek would have been.
I know it has been on my side, without a figment of complain.

I am still strong.
I can bear some more.
I'll be the last man standing.
I am sure of this, even more.

A pretty simple poem by my standards. Scribbled it while being the pillion-rider, on my friend's back.


on June 02, 2009

Poison eats me from the inside
No more is slow death a farce
The suffering increases by the second
The acid of insecurity gives me scars

The wounds refuse to heal
The pain just does not subside
The crooked hand of fate
puts barbed wire in my backside

What awaits me in the offing is as clear
as the sky on a turbulent stormy night
The past was voodoo-ed by satanic powers
Dementors take me over and I give up the fight

The most twisted demons wreck havoc right in my eyes
my alter-ego thinks they are angels
The robes and the halo seem Heavenly
I know Hell has a knack of deadly disguise

I can no more talk to myself
There's an iron curtain in the system
I make slow, deep cuts with the knife
Masochism resides in my cranium