Tommorow

there are days we never long for 

days that remind us of our existence

when all we want is forget how to breathe

but how do you even do that?

breathing, barring medical conditions, 

comes naturally to us 

call it default setting

except because tomorrow is another day 

that reminds us of failures both by 

commission and omission,

the wrongs things we did and the rights things we 

did not do 

of the wrong people we loved,

and the right people we neglected,

of the dreams yearn to live 

and the reality we are in 

as we breathe, we are constantly reminded that life 

does not make too much sense,

and we don't either 

Transcendence

Sometimes what goes on in our minds makes the world seem like a convoluted maze, dark and filled with eerie sounds. It should be better, we think. It should be, except it isn't. Because life never follows a script. We do create scripts right inside our heads, consciously or subconsciously. And when it does not go to plan, the world turns dark soon after sunrise. And we long for ephemeral things that will transcend our deep-seated worries. We binge watch movies, binge eat, and for some, binge on alcohol. 

It could be better. But its so much worse than we envisioned. Yet somehow, it seems the situation is out of control. It seems that our guardian angels have taken a nap, or threw in the towel concerning our cherished dreams. We  want to blame someone for the decisions we made. The truth is that it is far much easier to blame someone or anything to make the sorry situation seem a little better. We are us. Things like this should not be happening to us. But the reality is that it is happening. And it seems that it is out of control. 

Give Me Bread

give me a loaf of bread 

before I drop dead 

so that you can come 

and bestow upon my soul virtues I never had 

say you truly love me 

before we become 'used to be'

and you turn into a philosopher 

waxing cliches 

like you don't know what you have till its gone 

life is a lot like a novel 

lots of plots twists before the shovel 

lots of characters, aiding or derailing the script 

and sometimes the confusion between the real and ideal 

makes life unbearable  

you fall into hard times 

that make you long for those nursery rhymes 

because the meaning of adulthood gets lost

and you wonder why you were 

so much in a hurry to grow up 

they say life is unfair 

because it is supposed to be 

they say diamonds take a beating 

to become the 'it' thing

but you are no diamond and hard is not your portion 

How Do You Begin Again

 I still miss her, in some kind strange way, 

I know we still had so many to say, 

We promised each other so many 

Whatever flowed out of her mouth was honey 

How do you begin again 

When it is just too much pain 

The one you ever truly loved

when you loved in a way you could never have explained? 

I still miss her, a funny feeling now 

And I ask myself, eerily, how? 

What happened? What did not?

In my stomach settles a strange knot.

 

It is strange when you believe you were never meant to part 

There is always that guilty feeling you never played your part 

On some cold nights, you pause all your thoughts and ask why 

And the ever elusive answer leaves you with a weird sigh 

The Man From The Lowlands

 He came from the ranks of men, 

who gradually gravitated towards oblivion

by sheer and willful ignorance. 

He suffers frequent bouts of self-loathe 

on moments he swore he wouldn't ever reach. 

It is the umpteenth time to swear, 

yet on his low moments, 

he will be moved by how much he is doing 

embrace the noose that took his grandfather away 

On the outside he seems like a made-up guy 

But broken into smithereens on the inside 

How he wishes that things were different 

If only he did things differently. 

Rat Race

 If they ever tell you that you will
get to a point, in a sinister manner
a point where your name will be
permanently struck of the register
of those seeking redemption,
yield to temptation. Believe them. 

For heaven's sake, what would
a man actively seeking his destruction,
hope for?
There are only so many things to be grateful
for, yet focus on the same things
that have born nothing but angst,
self-loathe,
self-hate
and when nothing seems to work,
the very man stares at his own bleak existence
the existence that he made
and wishes there was a hand that hoist him
of the hole
that has become a rat race. 

If there ever tell you
that you may amount to nothing
believe them.
In you, they are battling their own existential
struggles
and your failure might make them feel better about
their sorry existence

Silence

 Silence. 

Sometimes you crave it, sometimes you don't 

Sometimes its liberating, sometimes it imprisons 

Silence. 

A lover's nightmare, 

A jilted love's bliss. 

Silence. 

Sometimes it gives hope, 

Sometimes it strangles it, 

You oscillate between hope 

and despair 

Silence is not a dream 

Silence does not obey laws of the stream

It lives on its own terms 

Yet treats and harms