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
tell me any one tale
full woes quite avoidable
like Chipchos and his friends...
the have danced around fire
plenty of times,
each time getting burns to
what medical doctors call degrees
Chipchos seems to decreed to die young
broke and miserable
for each time he gets burned,
he goes back again
because he likes to dance around fire,
he says anything you love doing is
worth overdoing,
his lifelong mantra is that moderation is for cowards
We stood in unbearable rain
In the pursuit of truth,
It did not seem so vain
As contacting god from telephone booth
Not knowing drove us insane
We had an inkling, a slight hint
a candle on the window vane
i flicker in the night, a glint
It might not have been
Truth is, truth hurts
In the end we may never win
Either way, we may be broken into parts
It began with a whiff from a distant land,
A vast ocean lay between,
And to conquer it a fool's errand,
It did not deter them explorers,
The braved the oceans with nothing as
much as a compass,
And they came to a brave new world,
and discovered people who did not look like,
their unassuming ways dismissed as primitive
And they killed thousands,
They occupied lands never theirs - they did not even
want to share - the darn ungrateful sojourners
And then came a new language,
A new religion,
And concepts such as democracy introduced
to a people did not need it,
And they called those who wanted their land back barbarians
The white barbarians stayed and made foreign lands their homes
And the repercussions are still felt today, Centuries after
The old man spoke slowly,
and deliberately,
a penetrating gazed fixed one me,
He said "you are not depressed,
it is a white man's word,
an excuse of sorts,
to create psychiatrists, and counsellors
perhaps sell drugs for Big Pharma
You are sad that you are meeting that objective,
You are not depressed,
You are just broke
and with a huge void of discontent inside you
you wish you could be somewhere else,
living another life."
you've watched too much TV,
you've consciously let yourself to your ruin,
you've realized your ruins
and it is unsightly - you want a quick fix,
a lottery -
young man, you do not need a lottery,
even if you get one, it won't rescue you"
Once heaven looked like a good destination,
one that you would only see when you permanently
close your eyes,
and a heap of soil stacked over you - of course if you are
lucky
We believed, because we needed to believe in something,
We needed to believe something that assures as a shred of immortality
Who wouldn't to live forever?
On Sundays, when going to church was part of the school routine
Just like eating, we trooped to church and sung
Our little hearts incredibly joyous
For it was the only time you would be singled out for a beating,
at least no then,
Heaven was within our grasp
Years later, we realize that no one tells you
that you have to pay bills as you wait to go to heaven,
and the wait is pretty darn long
He smelled of a cocktail of frustrations
and bad decisions,
He mulled for hours,
He wanted to give up once and for all
Yet he couldn't,
because breathing is an involuntary act
and he had all his guts drained out of him.
He rolls over in his bed,
and waits for another day,
to make bad decisions
