Day: August 31, 2010

Loveless Lark

In my forgetfulness I sing
songs full of sadness
oblivious of the source
of the sound of the song:

Put on a mask
to hide your decadence,
contort your sadness
into a smile.

Find a suitable drug
dissolve your fears
and your hopes,
drink them till you piss them out.

For these are the things I do
when I look around me and at
all the passions that flow through men
but have deserted me.

Hard it is to be loveless
no blood now in my veins,
I sit here dissecting myself
to find and fill the holes.

The heart inside me wrenched
by an imploring invisible hand
leaves me bleeding
my memories to death.

One day I will cut my head
to find inside a carcass of longings,
once killed by the cruel laziness
tasting like sugar, smelling like love.


Eyes lulled by the mist
of imbecile longings:
I thought I had her,
oblivious of the million miles
hidden under a veneer of lies
separating her and me.

For in that moment of delusion
she was mine, for that moment
of delusion, I’d give my eyes.
A smile is a spark that can light
the wildfire of fantasies
I was tricked so.

The fire burned and burned
me with it. Eternally swirling
on a wheel of fire screaming
words of hate that tip off
their brims and intertwine,
leaving me meaningless.

Abate: Debate

Cramped between
restless walls
shifting cryptically.
Lost absolute,
searching frantically.
Lost rhyme.
Crumpled meter.

Waste ideologies,
burlesque drama,
detached debates.
Two words,
million words,
no words,
silver swords.
Ripe edges,
falling off,
cutting off
all communication.
Soul tethered,
circling eternally,
debating punctually,
drawing, redrawing
soul’s territory.
Brandishing swords,
bleeding screams,
charging words,
erasing lines,
phrasing lines,
tearing thoughts,
snuffing sleep;
swallowing sensibilities.

Crappy Entries

I picked up the soap from the stand, with a book tucked in my chest, went to the toilet. There is a leaky flush in our row of toilets that reverberates with an irritating and persistent drone: I decided to take a crap in that toilet. What looked irritating from the outside was strangely redeeming on the inside. The numbing drone didn’t allow me to read my book, didn’t allow me to think, and for a while there, I felt blissfully asleep.

With a tremble and a sigh of exhaustion the sound started to recede. It turned into a complaint, the water whined for a while and eventually ceased to talk. In the silence that ensued, I heard the drops I’d ignored, felt the book close to my chest, and looked down to trace the path of my shit. I suddenly felt my nose-buds tingle with the smell of my crap now- how could I not smell it before?

The smell, the clip-clap of the leaks taps, and all my thoughts were suddenly downed in another noise: of a nearby tap gushed open. It wasn’t a drone, it was very much unlike the earlier sound of the whistling flush, but again, for a while, I felt blissfully asleep.

The sound ceased soon. I washed the dirt off my ass, rose up with the book still tucked under my chest, flushed my crap down the toilet (the drone resumed, but it was no longer of any use) and came back to my room.