The Silence

 The silence, 

the borrowed silence, 

as if we are tiptoeing 

around each other, 

one numb, 

the other uncaring, 

the haunting silence, 

the silence of a machete,

and a shovel 

The Interloper

I am alone, 

an interloper 

in a place I should call 

home, 

the stench that wafts 

after me is failure, 

I am an intruder, 

stalking,

walking around unseen, 

I am of little use, 

sitting by boulders

in unseen corners, 

trying to be invisible, 

I am not welcome in 

spaces where men have 

opinions, 

for I, an interloper, 

has not more sense 

than cow dung 

Too Tired Too Early

 an unreedeeming yawn, 

today's promising dawn,

filtered into a bucket of 

unfulfilling days 

unearned fatigue settles 

like dust

the head hauls unnecessarily heavy 

thoughts 

thoughts of yore,

dreams unlived 

girls unkissed 

abandoned stories 

again, unearned fatigue rattles, 

a warning, 

tomorrow might begin 

too early 

too early, 

always too tired too early 

I Have Loved You

 I have loved you in ways,

in ways devoid of common sense, 

I've loved in the quiet desperation of 

an addict, 

I have loved you 

in ways that asked nothing in return, 

but all I gotten in return 

is jeering silence, 

as if my heart has no discernible rhythm 

Distance

the vast chasm between our 

hearts, 

regrettable, though

I kinda hope you are okay, 

The Worst Recedes

 the ever overwhelmingly inviting 

pop sound,

of beer being beheaded, 

the taming sip, a slow 

slide towards uninhibited night 

unhibited pockets, 

daring damsels swing their posterior 

endowments

the deejay cranks up the volume, 

The Little Dog Is Dead

I whistled at the little dog,

It gave me a listlessly solemn gaze, 

as if I was disturbing a sacred exercise, 

as it tried to borrow a few sorrow-filled hours, 

by lapping water by the cowshed, 

the curved back, poking ribs betrayed 

 it's eloquent emaciation, 

It left it's pain for my speculation, 

bore it with a bravery only dogs know how 

I knew it wouldn't make it 

and I wouldn't interfere with it's fate, 

for the dog had yet to have a name, 

even if it had, I am not too sentimental about dying dogs 

I am not attached to them 

With time, someone will stumble upon its bones,

for a dog chooses solitude for a dignified death 

And tonight, it's loud absence will shroud the compound 

She Was So Happy

 

She was so happy, 

so happy in a bothersome way, 

because in her happiness, 

I saw a reflection of my own 

cruel unhappiness, 

a pathetic kind the repels other's 

joy,

and I, 

being no robber, 

and she, neither a lover of mine, 

I did not have any means, 

except to crawl back into my 

unhappy crib, 

to be alone,

by myself, 

unbothering, 

and not bothered

as if allergic to

happiness

The Little Champ

 I envy the way he falls asleep

A half a minute and he's gone 

As if sleep had waited too long 

To accompany him till dawn 

I envy that he sleeps at exact times

Perhaps a little early but never late 

And every day of the week, he does 

Sometimes supper can even wait 

I envy that he does not brood at all

About the day's trivialities at sunset 

All he cares about is his sweet slumber 

Unlike I, by midnight, rest isn't earned yet

I toss and turn for hours every night,

I pour libation, offer blood sacrifice 

To the unyielding sadistic sleep

Only glimpsed at a minute to sunrise