Tag Archives: poetry

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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The Age of Retardation


We are finally here. A pumpkin with a wig rules the world. Misogyny is feminism. Science is an opinion. Reality is unreal. Vaccination is a conspiracy. Survellaince State helps freedom. Global warming is infotainment. Religious terrorism is revolution. Nazis are the new progressives. Billionaires represent the poor. Democracies vote for dictatorship. Truth is whats on TV. Earth is collapsing while we flee to Mars. Mythology is history. History is a myth. Oppression doesn’t exist, but all the elites are victims. Rape is trivial. Friend zone is an issue. MSM is fake. Fake news is not. Words are violent. Violence is peace. Nationalism is sacrificing the nation. Patriotism is attacking fellow citizens. Faith is true. Facts are false. Human rights are imperialistic. Decibels decide debates. Repressive traditions are liberating. Religion is not religion. Shamans are doctors. Cartoon satires predict the future, while experts work on scholarly jokes. Logic is oppressive. Anything goes. Unless it goes against me.

Welcome to the Age of Retardation.

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Why Why?


Why Why?

 

If you dive deep into the abyss of Reason and have that insanity in you which drives you till the very end of your wits,

You will eventually ask:

Why why?

What what?

How how?

The questions will start questioning themselves. The circle of Reason will be complete.

There will be no answers. And that will be the real dawn of truth.

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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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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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The Room Is Not Empty, It’s You


Empty: It’s You

Is it the room that is empty
Or is it you
Who can be hidden
By a box of five walls
And a granite floor
And negate
Your body
Your Breath
Your existence
Your soul?

Stop blaming the world for its blindness
When you yourself have gouged your eyes out.

See.
Hear.
Touch.
Smell.
Taste.

Exist.

— X —
If you liked it, the baboon shall very well want your comments below.
Want some doughnuts?
Lobsters!
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We Have Survived


We have survived.

We have survived your gas chambers and your World Wars.

We have mutated and lived through your nuclear explosions.

We have taken bullets to our heads to fight the ignorance you preached.

When you decided to bifurcate our homes and cleave our hearts to suckle your emaciated, infantile egos, we were the bridges across your borders.

In your carnival of riots which celebrate your manufactured hatred, we provide sanctuary to the refugees of sanity whom you betray.

We are the ones who pick up the pieces and bury them in our bosom after you decide to smash the head of that 5 year old in the name of your religion.

We are the rumbling in the streets and the roar of hope which you seek to suppress with your pitiful water canons and your police.

We are the geniuses whom you behead and later on uphold as the icons of your religions which we rebelled against.

 

We have seen you destroy our world;

And we have lived through it all.

 

We have survived.

We will thrive.

Beware!

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Filthy Delhi Lover


Do me in the doggy perv,
Take me in your lap and surf,
Shit’s the lube there is to fuck
Your Filthy Delhi Lover.

Hussain will paint us nude, my love.
With every thrust with every shove,
We climb up their towers and call;
Let the cameras cover.

Let the celebrities clear the way,
When legends walk they shall sway.
Bow before us ye bitches
You slaves want us as rulers.

Quote me in the Time, I say.
Hear me talk about that May.
When i groped you in the train, that day,
Your kick made me cower.

But thank god you are still potent, douche.
I like it when you fill my pouch.
Your ass is not forgiven still
You ask before you savour.

Cheap Bra,
Easy Rip.
Wet Cunt,
Take a Sip.
Take me in,
Don’t make me dig.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

You’re hard
Let me help.
On Top
Ill make you yelp.
Lie down
And you shall delve.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

My staff
But your crown.
I am your slave
Wipe off that frown.
You are the Queen
When I am down.

My Filthy Delhi Lover

There are some nights when you don’t sleep,
My poet, I shall let you weep.
Meet in me Hauz Khas you creep.
Ill show you how its done.

Ill ask before I rape you,
Bring some ropes, take the cue.
The stars shall know we were there,
We shall leave our mark.

Delete that clip, you will be slayed
I’ll break your apple if it will be played.
That MMS is useless son,
Stars perform live.

Take me for a Royce Ride
We’ll bitch about Joyce with pride.
Your piss on Ulysses my Aphrodite
Makes me wanna crash.

Lets go to some art gallery,
Lets make out amongst snobbery.
They’ll call our piece performance art
And sell it for a million.

Or we shall buy a red light,
Put it up, make the city bright.
We burn the khadi, win their game,
Parliament is now planetarium.

We shall orgasm seeing the Mars
Claw my butt, leave your scars.
Plan a party with the chamars
And dance with the hijras.

Its sexy when you talk society,
Justice shall be your piety.
Its nice when you worship none,
But love and freedom.

This is how you make porn,
You are wet, your mind is warm.
Dream me up when I am gone
Your Filthy Delhi Lover.

–X–
*CAUTION*
The names of certain communities, which are used as abuses, are not used in the same sense.
The poet doesn’t intend to hurt anybody’s sentiment. If your interpretation of this poem hurts your feelings, then you shall solve it yourself.
This is a dialogue, not a monologue. Meaning there are two speakers.
The poet doesn’t condone rape. The ‘rape’ used in this poem shouldn’t be taken in the literal sense.

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