in the dark crevices of his mind
lies grandiose dreams,
dreams as big as the universe
dreams as vast as space
as lays awake, the dreamer in him
convulses with delight
at the mere thought of glittering success
that would drive many mad with envy
the dreams are like opium to him
he seeks them everyday,
yet does very little to bring them to fruition
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
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 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
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
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.
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
