Who we are?
Whom we fight?
Who we are?
Whom we fight?
Ah! These crossroads again.
I’m on this side and you on the other.
I have got a gun to my head.
It’s nothing new but it is bigger than your Glock.
One’s demons are his own.
They are balloony jokes to others.
People poke, prod and laugh at them.
Another day begins and I am done,
With waking up and renewing myself.
The effort alone is not enough,
Unless the bird cries the hardest and,
It shakes the cage.
Ask me what I can do and I will say,
I will be happy for others and depressed for myself.
These different phases do not call for help,
But these apologies stay here and do not fly,
Where they should go.
They should soothe the ones I wounded.
I keep them to myself, this inability,
What are the chances of going back now.
I ask now, you and everyone,
I am not good at this thing where,
Feeling warm and sorry should be extended.
I am cold and I am swallowing many things,
To let these words pass without any hiccups.
I am sorry for things done and words said,
And I ain’t doing this to keep my days easy.
I am me, and will continue to be.
But I want you to forget your wounds and,
And just go on with the days.
You are real and good.
The kind of stories I want to tell,
I do not know If,
I will ever be able to tell them as they are.
To say a poor man is poor,
I will tell you about him,
And the things he did to endure the day,
And fill his belly with food.
I will tell but I will hope,
The man finds his happiness soon.
I know it will make my stories false.
But I will be truly happy then.
Feel this art we create with lives,
These lives are of humans like us.
We will pinpoint differences later,
For now, they are just like us.
I don’t want to be proud of something,
Which came out of someone’s miserable days.
I would have written about my life,
But this boredom rules the king.
Picking up a piece from a life,
And holding it against voices and opinions,
It is cruel when it emits satisfaction to the ego.
All while their origins remain the same way they were.
Our boring live must be content,
With the little crux we have.
Ordinary things are beautiful too.
This is loneliness
This time is boring
You are boring
You gawk at things, ceiling and this fan over head spins spins and it spins
Time does not pass
Seconds, minutes but an hour is a long way from home
You turn yourself to things which you thought were useless
Talking to people is tricky though
They are ignorant because they want to be
And you shout, a lone man in the ground
Someone should come and take me away
This place is lifeless
I poke this glass screen continuously
You shall not find anything
Stay this way, You will.