Tag Archives: poem

I am the Individual


I am the problem you could never solve,

I calculate beyond your algebra.

I am that invincible disbalance in your equations

Untouched by your formula.

I am the star which sears the night,

Outside any constellation.

The blind spot in your planetary charts,

That blatant mystery in the sky.

I am the residue after the chemical reaction,

The indissolvable toxin.

Forever moving and making you stir Bulldozing through your foundations —

A ceaseless tornado.

Your theories despise me

Your Language crumbles at my feet.

Your abstractions rupture at each encounter

I revolutionize daily.

I am the sky above your intersections

Beyond your horizons

I precede the Subject of your ideology

Always outside your texts.

I play with your labels

And juggle them like balls

Any identity which you construct

Is yet another balloon

I’ll burst in jest —

A lego brick

With Which I construct a castle

Or throw away at whim.

I am that crude reality

You see with your eyes

Like the sound of wind chimes

I tingle your nerves

But never cross your mind

Like a hum or a shiver

I inhabit your body.

I am so obvious

You recognize me instantly

But your knowledge has Alzheimers

Your logic cannot fathom me.

I am the largest minority in society,

I am everyone.

Unique by blueprint

Overflowing every border and box

Excessive by necessity

Unbound by definitions

Undefinable by any category

Silent but sublime.

You can never put a finger on me

Never crush me under your thumb

I am not something you theorized

Programmed and programmable

Isolated units

Consumer and consumed

Obeying the scriptures you think

Are ingrained in me.

I am not some rootless

Impoverished

Fungus

Desperate for bondage

And categories to define me.

You cant even understand

I can exist without chains.

I am the individual

Discreet and singular

Multiple and infinite

All at once

The greatest silence in history.

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Something To Live By


Image

Existence is Fluid;

the Universe is Multiple;

Each Life is Unique;

A Human is Born Free;

Justice is its Need;

Happiness is Holistic;

God is You.

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Failed Paths, No More


I am tired of walking
On your dreary paths.
I shall rather sleep
On a patch of grass which is my own,
And later fly in a sky which chooses me.

My life has too much laughter destined for it.

I can’t waste my breath
Running after dreams
Which you failed to achieve,
Or obeying rules
Which failed you.

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Waiting


Dark Bus
Red Blood
Bite Marks
Brutal fuck

Iron Rod
Intestines
Cold Streets
Outrage
Angry Roars
Hang Them
Victory
Five Year
Plastic
Ripped Ass

What Changed?

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Paralysed Tongue


The Oceans have lost their depth,
The night has killed its stars.
All the metaphors have broken-down,
Meaning was empty since the Start.

If you want to speak to me,
Look into my eyes.

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The Age Is Lost, The Genius Has Escaped


The Post-Modern Genius Will Write His Obituary Like This…

It is a loneliness of a special kind
Which is born out of this opinion —
I am better
And it is true.

How surprising is it,
That a whole age can fail you?

That an era can give you no heroics to be inspired.
That your need for grandeur is so dire,
That you have to dream up your gods,
Because the real ones never existed.
When geniuses are just inflated mediocrity,
You become your own apothecary.

It may seem so romantic,
Running alone in a race for greatness.
But the truth is this —
I am great
But it’s not enough.

I wish I could forge this
Into one of those famed solitudes;
The betrayed lover of humanity
Having an affair with his alienation.

I wish I could mould this
Into an obsessive depression,
Forcing me to fry my brains in a microwave;
A death which would’ve made me immortal.

I wish I could hammer this
Into a toxic disgust —
Spitting on people’s faces
With my poetic revulsion.

But disappointment has no grandeur.
Boredom is not glamorous.

When you uphold my skull
As an idol of worship,
Know that all my artistry
Was just an attempt
To escape You.

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Kiss Me In Your Dreams


Kiss Dreams

Kiss me once
And steal my soul,
Take my flood
To its shore.

To the land of no more.

When the stars we sweared by
Burn in their pyres,
And the promised eternity
Turns into a liar.

Kiss me once
Take my soul

Keep the song I’ll sing no more.

On the edge sits the boy,
The sand trickling down his hands;
It’s Swept away, from the shore
To the embrace of your door.

Take the sands
Kiss him more

Take him beyond his shore.

In the lore, you see him come.
In his cloak of fire.
The stars die in the supernova.
Eternity is a worthless thing to aspire.

Kiss him once
Take my soul.

In conclusion, I have to go.

Wake up princess,
But what will you find?
Whose is the sands?
Whose is the shore?

The flood is no more.

Whose is the song?
Whose is the lore?

The stars are no more.

Love was the dream.
Whose was the boy?
Whose was the princess?

It was the lie.
The lie was the gift.
It was you.

–X–

This poem came to me last night like a dream.
I am not really sure if even I know what its complete meaning is.

This is inspired by a close (lady) friend of mine, to whom I am attracted to but not really in love.
But I shall describe this poem as a love poem.

I know I have subconsciously drawn the inspirational energy from the lyrics of ‘Kafka On The Shore’, a fictional song in the novel of the same name, written by Haruki Murakami.

I will really appreciate if you will try to analyze the poem and attempt to discern its meaning.

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The Cigarette In Her Pussy


1.

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke,                   

She dances in the dark.                    

His hand on her butt,                       

His cigarette under her dress.          

Those perverted groping claws,        

Tear away her flesh;                        

Her lover is just another Hyena,       

His mask prettier than the rest.        

It’s too late for the illusion to end,    

She is the mirage now —                  

The empowered modern women,      

Is just a helpless slut.                       

Her skin sizzles under the spotlight,

The fame-whore has been fucked.

Her soul is annihilated from the fire

Of the cigarette in her pussy.

2.

Her heels are her wings,

She walks two feet above the ground.

Yes, she feels the agony,

But her feet are far from tired.

The men around her are bound by chains,

Their leash firmly held in her fingers.

The dicks of those filthy dogs

Are pierced by her stilettos.

Her teats spit out fire,

The volcanic modern women.

She rules the world with a smokey crown,

With the cigarette in her pussy.

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Bullshit


1.

I hold her hand as she talks about him,

She tells me how he made love to her.

I sniff her hair, but I smell his sweat;

Even her scent proclaims that she’s owned by him.

We kiss and she caresses my cheek,

I know she misses his hard stubble.

She likes it rough.

She promises me that she has forgotten him,

But then, when I take her in my arms,

She asks me if he’ll come back to her.

And then, in a soft, low whisper, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

2.

He is with his new girl, his hand on her waist.

He smiles — proud at his achievement.

He has to realise that he’s just another man-whore.

He shows her off like a stolen diamond ring,

He should know that he’s just her trophy prostitute.

He asks me if I think if he’s popular,

And then, in a voice firm and harsh, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

3.

I find him sitting amidst a crowd,

He says that he feels lonely.

He will have to take of his red blindfold.

He shows the way to those who come to him;

It’s time that he follows the path that he knows is his.

The scarlet wounds on his feet bleed,

He should stop sprinting when he needs to walk.

His pencil lays broken on the table,

He asks me if he’s a bad writer

And then, in a loud, ferocious roar, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

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Flight Towards Freedom


Fear, rejection and silent screams;

they seek approval and freedom dreams.

Mask, diamonds and fancy dress;

their soul chokes under the glittery mess.

Joy, happiness, for them they beg;

they all are slaves with chained legs.

Tired, defeated, they give in,

but I do not, for this is a sin.

Revolt, rebellion and my war cry;

I take off my clothes, my soul won’t die.

Hated, scorned, I am loathed,

but they are blind, they are clothed.

Liberty, freedom, my limit is the sky;

With my wings outstretched I soar high.

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