Saturday, 14 April 2018

A faceless, shapeless, endless poem.

No one deserves sadness
No one deserves loneliness
even when things are in bad shape
might as well you too
still, there should be a glint of hope
love, strength, happiness;
where the world around you expands
the one inside you collapses,
leaving you to feel brittle and naive
with legs too wobbly to walk,
too weak to follow a simple trail;
you may have called it a Golden Phase
where there is all the learning
harsh bitter cutting learning
as essential to you as a soap to your body
meant to cleanse, intended to purify;
but as the process begins and proceeds
turns out it's not easy
to drain all that pollution of you
to get rid of the dirt
the mud, the slime, the streaks of black holes;
it's difficult, you know
goin' through the process
it's rude, merciless, insensitive
might as well be a killing machine
'cause at one or the other point
it makes you think of quitting;
things that inspired you to keep breathing
faces that showed it's worth living
promises that held your pieces together
the Hope that was supposed to stitch those wounds better;
but as time slides away,
things stop working, faces turn away
promises tear you further apart
the same hope urges you to stop living;

it's the cacophony of a troubled soul
the scream of silent eyes
the cry of a restless heart
the agony of a sinful mind;
yet you continue to live,
for at the last moment when nothing worked
a thought from the universe was handed over
If you die, how'd you know how your story ends?
this universe is an expert tailor, i tell you
'cause it stopped the inevitable, the churning process
and put forward a needle and a single line of thread
and made you stitch the i give up! away;
it lured you into thinking something unprecedented
How my story will end, if i don't end it myself?
Will it be any different? 
Will it be the way i want it to be?
more you think, better the needle snaps
firmer the stitching turns into
and then you stay, realizing like a philosopher
the world has never seen yet
i am merely a part of the show
i am expected to play my part
and i have no right to shut the play down
for it's not my job, my turn to do it.
So, you stay! the sewing continues
as strong as vulnerable it can be
to see the end of life, to play the role
you've been entrusted with so dearly;
but is my part as difficult to hold as yours?
'cause it seems tough, like a shaky boat
sending out SOS but there is no signal
no life guards, no ventilator,
no sunshine to bathe in,
only a big monstrous torpedo
or may be a hulk storm,
always enraged forced to turn things green;
that's my favorite color by the way (and red too!)
for once in your life, you don't want green
not red either
they both depict anger, destruction,
the amalgamation of an evil force
all you want is a wave of white
the color of silence, peace, possibilities
it never ends, the white continues to mingle
one particle into another
creating a bond, inseparable affection
a phone call that lasts forever;
after being a hopeless philosopher,
may be it's time you turn into an artist
or a bad poet,
the lazy loner or a howling wolf,
switch to whatever you want
no one's gonna know the series of transformations
but you,
and it's all you got - You
a new subject to write about
a new title to stretch the ongoing poem
a fresh hay however feeble it might be
to lay your trembling fingers on,
you don't wish to end it soon
regardless of the nature
it's a stretch of a moment,
the continuation of an eternity
once it stops, you'll have to look around
only to find the crushing silence demolishing you up
in layers after layers, piles over piles
the funny thing in all of this is,
that you appear to them in one piece
and also that it all happens amid the chaos;
people around you talk but you listen
may be from eyes, nose, lips
but never from ears,
their words, their thoughts never reach you
never touch you the way you want them to be
so all you do is to keep typing words away
in a poem that seems endless, shapeless, faceless;
and there is one word, a perfect description
Selfish! Yes, you become selfish
not listening to others but not focusing on yourself either
all you wish is to mingle in air, waved away with the wind
only to end up dizzy at the rainbow
racing to the sun, longing to have a ride on its warm rays
you might wonder about the temperature of the sun
i'm talking about
yours is hot, hot enough to leave you burning to the core
but if i tell you about mine
mine is warm, kind, childish in its own ways
selfish like nothing, will turn you into ashes in an instant
but it also has the knob that lowers its anger down
allowing the air to rest on its rays
may be for a moment
before it burns it away without a polite notice;
But do you complain?
No, for that precise moment was the eternity
you mingled in the air for
you ran up to the rainbow
raced against the nature, the universe,
against your very own nature,
so you burn willingly
if that's what takes the sun to live in peace
and you to finally find it.

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Hey! Before you leave, i wish you a good day or...night.