the hungry and proud sleep
with grumbling stomachs,
the hungry and poor are not choosy
their stomach can digest any kind of bacteria,
hungry and poor rummage through bins
looking for anything remotely edible
they compete with flies in the food chain
the hungry, and broke
oscillate between hunger and pride
the pangs bite their consciousness
of course they have to blame someone
or some force in the universe
a careless sense of purpose
has been fixed upon my set of wheels
I moving, or seeming to move
as though its against my will
a careening off the road
I am trudging uphill
I am moving although it does matter
that I am moving
because I have fixed a careless of purpose
on my set of wheels
I hurtling downhill one minute
the next I am trudging uphill
before, long nights such as these,
times when you feel like banging
your head against the wall,
we'd try to escape our misery
and seek refuge in loud places
among unfamiliar faces
peering through the hazy cigar smoke
sip our drinks and engage in solitary thoughts
or strike a conversation with strangers
strangers who will solicit drinks from us
those nights are gone
the nights are filled with thugs in blue
and curfew
we are stuck dark things
like grumpy wives
and thoughts
and walls
and several unlived dreams
the night howlers scream
but no one hears their screams
because coronavirus rules the air
the seas, and the scenes
yawn,
nurse your fatigue
it is not unique
you are just chasing the same old dawn
drown,
or dive in to save your sorrows
the sun rise with its blows
until shadows stop being drawn
yawn,
and write another sad poem
it wasn't you verse them
you just were afraid of dawn
you lay cold on the floor of his heart
teeth clattering amid pleas
of love
Yet every morning, he poured cold water
all over you
knowing how much the water made everything
worse
You pleaded him, promised him cute and intelligent
kids
But he heard none- he was deaf
But, then, you survived
And when you remember how you
thought you couldn't
nothing seems impossible
because there is always a light
even in the deepest recesses of sorrow
the stone throws a hard stare,
like how it has known for staring
staring at vagaries of weather
weathering
a slow disintegration into another
form
or formlessness
or something to gives promise to other lives
yet, for now, the hard stone cold stare
revealing nothing, not even blinking
only a laughter that hides
stories beneath its silence
a stone cold silence
The confining prison grills
are a welcome refuge to prisoners
for they are freer than he
than he whose mind has enslaved him
he is guilty of a cruel fate
a fate that's yet to come
and the ticking seconds
crawl closer to an indefinite execution date
the fall walls of his room
seems like a solitary confinement
no soul to talk to, no walks in the sun
and he is his own cruel prison guard
his life is one long prison stretch
except that the routes of escape are open
yet he makes no attempt at it
because he will shoot himself - or take poison
