The Paperboy

Words form structures,
And people trapped in them,
I see nothing beyond what is shown to me,
I feel something in my head but it’s not me.

I wait on the doorstep for more of it,
Lives waiting to be dead,
This morning would be different, I assume,
No tanks blasting, no buildings going in fume.

What is beautiful and what is not?
What is right and what is wrong?
Just directions,
Leading everyone to their home.

The maze is open at all ends,
Death stares at the prisoner in the eye,
But do you have it in you,
To not know what will become of you?

The Human Chart

I see humans on a chart,
Segregated according to their part(s)
The chain would not last,
without every link in the cast.

Is that the only meaning of existence?
To play your role in the act
being the predator and the prey.

No one runs it yet everyone makes it.
No central power, no conditioning.
We produce to consume,
Each one of our offspring

Power is bought and sold,
The illusion is to be timid and bold.
One second can change years of existence,
One tear can overcome a million smiles.

Why should there be any end to it?
Finite is a human term, for the people within.
But the chart scrolls down to infinite.

A Distorted Life

A pot of water is boiling on the stove,
A green leaf soaked in it.
Have you ever felt the heat of boiling water?
The leaf shrinks into something without a name.
It feels like satans touch or God’s wrath
What’s the difference anyway?
When you look in the bubbles formed by a hundred Celsius
Then the world seems different
Things expand and shrink at the same time,
Words exist and don’t exist in the same rhyme.
A dog left astray, a species domesticated.
Houses of words and parliaments of sentences.
The heat and the powerless utensils
The leaf leaves a smell,
Like a cat with a bell.
You can find your way back to it,
But you can never see what was never there.

A broken Stallion

We found us in the sheds of the black city,
The battle was never fought,
Addiction was the only game known to us,
And death was all that we sought.

Sometimes in the morbid stained sheets
Or the murky corners of psychosomatic streets,
We crossed paths like strangers,
But everyone was aware of our common factors.

The birds refused to chirp in our forest,
And daylight was too glorious, to reach our breast.
Such was our destiny,
unknown even to us.

When everything was lost,
We found each other,
in a sub-conscious dilemma.

The photograph shows a smiling face,
Not because we were pleased,
But that’s what you do when asked to
Say cheese.

It was tough but we stuck together,
Fighting the rain and defeating pleasure,
In that bed we found each other.

With the company nothing felt old,
Not even our perpetual cold
Drugs stopped working on us,
As we were already high to the core

And that last race! What a tale it was,
We ran like a dream,
Piercing through our pasts,
towards a reality unreal before.

Rivers of my country

Water gains life, as it flows down a hill,
I sit by! trying to distinguish one rapid from another.
Have you ever done that?
It’s like telling one face from the other.

The rivers in my country don’t acknowledge the birth of Christ,
They travel from beyond time.
The flow of my rivers cannot be found in the boxes of your calendar,
They flow through me and you can’t even see.

As I sit beside him, she whispers me stories,
a hundred deaths and two ninety nine lives.
She lets me visit his deepest banks,
from creator to the destroyer, everything there lies.

You might hold me guilty for falsehood,
“how can you understand her tongue?
His language is long forgotten”
And I reply with nothing but defiance.

The river is driven by gravity, not your definition of clarity,
I don’t need to invent a language for her,
She is a part of me,
as I am of her.

A shade less color

Traveling through the regions beyond light,

Soaring above the conflicts of life,

A man reached the point of no return.

Darkness is the elimination of colour,

But, beyond the spectrum lies a substance.

The phenomenon of seeing clearly,

more clearly than required.

A heart of darkness is the true friend of horror,

Like white is of black,

It is the last resort of the human instinct,

To become what it cannot fight.

Sailing through the river of lives,

A man stands out,

A soul goes mad,

And the mind takes the path of chaos.

Time Wrap

Each tick of the clock is a part of history,
Nothing is predestined,
Acting by the clock is an illusion,
There are more dimensions to this game.

One moment seems to be like a life time,
And years flash by like dots in a line.
Chronology is not the only science,
Close thy eyes; there is a life in the nothingness of being blind.

Playing in the battlefield,
Screaming in the heart,
Nothing is greater,
Everything will be left behind.

Beyond the end lies innocence,
the freshness of not fearing to lose,
is the greatest gift,
turn the steering, try a new drift.

Weeds are also necessary,
Flowers are not the only beauty,
Knowing oneself in void of time
is the path to break the time wrap…