I Left The City

I left the city long ago 

fleeing from my demons 

surprisingly, 

my demons welcomed me 

in a far and alien land 

where conversations are difficult 

I am forced to be a loner 

Have conversations with myself 

they are not that great 

but I yearn for my city 

where a couple of people know my name

and my language 

Taken For Granted

what would happen 

if you were not the chosen?

may be they like the way 

you are ever present, 

like air, 

- for instance, how much do you 

think of air? 

abundant, present, cheap

and you are sort of entitled to it?

may be you haven't made yourself 

rare, scarce 

that's you are taken for granted

Long

time move swiftly 
we watched, silently gazing 

at our little sacred dreams, 

saying nothing, wishing nothing 

but bidding time 

for when we'd never have to

dream again 

and that would be when all 

the dreams have come true 

Sitting By The Edge

I'll be sitting by edge, 

smiling, 

and never wish I stuck by

your side, 

not today, not tomorrow 

but someday, 

for now, I'll keep in touch 

and take note of your tone 

because I am idle like that 

there is no better way to waste time 

than to make you feel 

as if I am eternally and hopelessly 

infatuated by by 

as if there is no other being 

on earth that would deserve this 

that would love better 

One Drink Tonight

I will have a drink tonight 

and toast to the madness 

abundant in every nerve 

inside me 

I'll have a drink tonight 

that'll remind me I am alive 

I'll have a drink 

to take a brief break from all 

the hassle that abounds 

I'll have a guilt free drink 

just one drink 

Battle-Scarred

may be you are battle-scarred

from the constant need to define 

who you are 

in a world keen deeming a star 

and one day, you set yourself free 

from all the yokes 

and the never ending need to fit in 

and live life on your rules 

but then the constant pursuit of 

people seeking to rob you 

your hard earned happiness 

grate your already weary soul 

We'll Meet Again

we'll meet again 

in a positively hopeless place 

a place where we'll have 

forgotten 

what it means to dream 

and the past pains that clung to us 

like leeches they were 

will become a cherished part of 

our existence 

and the scars, both palpable 

and impalpable

will become emblems 

of who we are 

or who we never became 

Sore From Too Much Thinking

there will come a point 

you can't write anymore 

your head will be sore 

from thinking too much 

of life, and all the things 

foisted upon us 

and everything is akin to 

to living through a punishment. 

A Bright Day

It is a bright day today 

Good tidings are on the way 

There isn't much to say

Except bow down and pray 

The nagging thought still exist 

Somehow we haven't kept abreast 

So many have ticked their wish list 

Yet we haven't visited the priest 

It is a good day to dream once more 

We've knocked so many a door 

But we are wiser now, unlike days of yore 

It is a bright day, we can dream more 

Where You Can't Afford Sentimentalism

when you wash ashore 

alone, and lost in an island 

you will not care anymore 

about who should hold your hand 

you will not be sentimental 

feelings will be replaced by survival instincts 

you will revert to the natural 

living within the new precincts

and when nights sail by 

no more thoughts of unrequited love 

when night creatures prowl nearby 

you'd only wish you lived above 

The Spider

the spider dexterously spins its web

its gangly feet hold it midair 

a slight touch of its web 

and the spider bungee jumps 

and when the danger passes 

it hoists itself up, like a crane 

but the question remains - 

why doesn't it get stuck in its own web?

The Writer and His Excuses

I will not write today, 

the wind blows in a sinister manner 

and has misaligned my creativity stars

I will not write today 

the table creaks in a way 

that grates my soul 

I will not write today 

I am yet to discover 

one chore I haven't done yet 

I will not write today 

something somewhere is just not right 

I can't point it out, so I will not write 

I will not write today 

for I am not anybody's favorite poet 

except I have the illusion 

that I was born with a gift of the gab 

I will not write today 

my mouse is not working 

I had never thought - to my dismay 

how much a mouse meant to my creativity 

The Songs

the songs that you both loved listening to,

echo in a distant with haunting clarity 

and the chaos that you once embraced 

becomes entangled with reality, 

muddying it, destroying all illusions 

and creates storms that you never, 

in a million years, anticipated, 

you become limp 

unaware, 

unsure, 

of what to do 

You Will Get Used To It

one day, just one day, 

you will get used to the cold embrace 

of loneliness 

you will cherish how numb you are 

when you think of them, 

how they hurt you 

how they took you for granted 

how they often forgot you are human 

 - a feeling human 

one day you will unfurl all the memories 

and scatter them like chaff 

and watch them disappear 

and feel nothing about it 

one day you will get used to not 

missing them 

and on that day, you will live as 

though they never existed 

and you will be free 

alone, but free 

The World

the world is a fiery ball of madness 

dizzyingly spinning in its orbit 

churning, relentlessly, days and nights 

some that happen, and plenty that don't 

the world is a fitting arena 

for both the wise and fools alike 

each dances to their tunes 

and leave their own distinct legacies 

when breath becomes air 

the world offers an equal chance 

it has always been fair like that 

but it never guarantees equal outcomes 

for none deserves more than they should 

none more than they are willing to give 

 

The Insane Man

there are no doubts about his insanity 

it doesn't even require a psychologist's intervention 

for no man has ever been apt 

to find excuses 

and where to lay blame 

for his impeccable inability 

to chase his dreams 

and, so, he does his things 

the old-versioned way

expecting different results 

Do Not Plead

everything has been spoken 

and I am here to leave a token 

maybe of appreciation or not 

for I am glad you told me I came short 

I am not bitter, though I should be 

It can be hard sometimes to see 

how far down you have fallen 

not especially with pride and ego swollen 

I'd love to be here again tomorrow 

but I am gonna leave my heart to fallow 

let it grow some weeds 

because I believe it's what it needs 

do not plead, do not ask me to stay 

it took all my strength to walk away 

I'll be watching you at a distance 

celebrating your success at every chance 

Perfect Solitude

One early morning, 
I sat alone sipping my vodka, 
the pervasive silence that engulfed 

the room

spoke of perfect solitude 

I was at peace

with myself, and the world, 

and there, I resolved that 

going against the grain 

against norms 

against everything 

would lead me to happiness 

I didn't 

yet I have no regrets 

Mornings

Some mornings carry with them
hapless cold
some mornings come earlier than
they are expected.
Unwelcome.
Some mornings needlessly arouse you
from your deep slumber
blissfully unaware that you would rather
dream than face the harsh
reality of having to live
Because chasing after dreams, while awake
is too much a hassle. Unwelcome
and it is much easier to lie in bed
and blame unforeseen circumstances
for why you are still broke, poor,
Unwanted

Floating Boats

I have reached a point in life 

where I won't belittle, 

or deem it less, inferior 

whatever floats one's boats 

Life is already too difficult 

plenty of us are glad just to get by 

often applauding themselves 

when they wake in the morning 

and find that they did not find 

courage to kill themselves last night 

I won't judge the crappy music 

one listens to 

I won't judge the wicked people they go out 

with 

I won't judge the drugs they ingest 

because that would be the only things 

keeping them happy 

and what's more important than being happy?