A better man

Meet me in my dreams, pretty girl.

Or in life, see me at my best atleast.

Forget all that I wrote to you

I was 18 and it was corny,

See me now.

See me go at the old machine gun

But don't hang on to every word that I say!

focus on the quality of thought instead.

See my heart and how I walk,

laden

with three empty suitacases, a bad kidney and expectations

for three hours

with four bucks in my pocket.

One dirty street after other

crumbling under my jaunty boots.

Look at my face glow

and my specks slide and my body shine

Here's a man who works hard, you'd say!

But you're worried instead that I'm Muslim

So watch the intensity

With which I chase my cup of wine.

It'd make your hair stand!

See how nonchalantly I beat

these loud mouthed assholes

in their own stupid drinking games..

Ah, but I know.

I know that whoever you end up with

I'm sure that he would

"be a better man than I am

gunga din...!"

Writing,
is death by pen.
And I like very much
To be butchered with a blunt axe
Than to drown in globs of sweet.

I like it when the toothless axe
hits my collar bone.
Breaks it
and peels skin.
every sound
every shriek
every red drop
and every sloppy detail
of the process,
I soak in.
A tiny glimpse of the glorious sun before dying
is all that I care about.

But some writers
and a lot of poets,
humans trained and untrained to kill with pain
kill instead
with honey.
It's a more horrific kind of death.
A dumb death
gulping down every sweet sentence
until your throat clogs
and you can't speak
you can't scream.
It pours out of your eyes,
and your ears
and it clogs up the brain,
the sweet wax.
So you cant think.
It's a dull, sugary death
where you don't bleed...

Love comes

Love comes

like a stream of thought

or a random line of poetry so beautiful,

that it stays
for maybe half a life, more or less
or one splendid moment in the sun.

It may stay, sure

but you can't build up on it.
It hangs THERE

suspended like a single silk strand of a spiderweb against the dark,
it meets no dawn.

Little expectations

Today all day, I waited.

Carried around a quarter vodka

Thinking I would drink behind a soft rain

by my bedroom window

as I would listen to some music

and probably smoke a joint afterwards

then listen to more music, 

and all the while

a light rain would fall.

I was hungry for it

the whole day

I watched the sky during my smoke breaks in office.

Thinking it would rain.

Waiting for it to rain.

By the end of the day

as I got home

through two buses and a crowded train.

The traffic screaming in my face

cruel and loud, with yellow lights

I went mental, temporarily

looking here and there

bewildered, broken and wide eyed

in the middle of the street.

My hands touched the quarter vodka

to be in touch with reality.

I walked into a home

which by the days is full of worries

and by night full of cockroaches

running around, brave ballsy survivors

probably mutated

but there was no rain.

I waited.

Emptied the quarter vodka.

Smoked the joint.

Masturbated.

Washed up

entered my room

and put my head down

to a sound of very light rain

playing like symphony

against an orange sky.

Never expect

from nature or people or yourself

something you badly need.

instead just hope

and see yourself surprised.

Society

Bound at birth
liberated in dirt
whats sets us free
are thoughts and death
each independent
of Society

cultures and cusines
are just atrracting layers
of a cake rotting beneath
with maggots and filth
with its base as the ever judging
Soci-e-ty

An ode lo Bella

old and addicted to a poision that kills,
a romantic soul wandering wild o'er the hills,
and sense of self in waivering jerks,
the needle digs deep and peacefully hurts.
A leaflike shape tatooed around the arms
as the mist falls around the quiet farms.
And fog descends on minds' eye,
in distance hear a quiet cry,
soulful and full of sorrow,
forget about today until tommrow.
melt into the grassy fields,
the wounds that bled, already healed,
and intricate designs and patterns form,
on the ceiling of my earthly tomb,
where silence greets and silence meets,
and something crawls underneath
the dried leaves fallen from trees.
the sweat drying in the gentle breeze,
that blows from a direction unknown.

the moon suspended halfway in the night,
a prism dripping celestial light
caught in the dew that forms,
on warm nights and early morn's.
the distant shriek's a welcome call
piercing through imaginary walls
a view of blue from down below
as the day fades the moonlight flows,
with fireflies and incense in the atmosphere
what a wonderful time for end to be near.
right here, right beside
and ride away into the night!