sleep and other maladies

i should've been woke,
woke as fuck
but i sleep with my eyes open
a sitting duck

world moves around me
a blurred contraception
i spin sitting in place
a totem in my own inception

when i dare open my eyes
at times i feel so sick
i just want to lie down back
in my pod in some matrix

i will watch the world go by
as civilization crumble, men die
i will wake up in a thousand years or two
maybe i'll wake up with

---
sleep is a problem in these troubled times.

तलाश

मैं अपने मन के जंगल में 

हूँ ढूंढ़ रहा एक कविता को 

कुछ सुनी हुई, कुछ देखी सी 

कुछ भूली सी, अनलेखी सी 

भाग कर थक सा गया हूँ 

लेकिन मन में एक इच्छा है 

एक पंक्ति, एक शब्द, एक लय 

एक नयी कविता की तृष्णा है

हर पत्ती और हर वृक्ष से 

अब पूछ पूछ कर चलता हू 

देखा है मेरी कविता को?

या शायद कुछ सुना ही हो 

छाया मातम इस जंगल में 

सब फसे हुए इस दंगल में 

और मेरी कविता सरसराती

अब घूम रही है मंगल पे 

--

I probably suck at writing Hindi poems. But since when has sucking at something stopped me from doing it? 

escape

every question
is a loaded gun
the answers
bullets for one

dig into an open wound
just to bleed for fun
and if they try to stop you
darling, better run

run till the blood is gone
and you're far away from here
till you're empty and alone
till you're free from all the fear

if you stop to take a breath
you will catch up with the pain
you better start moving
before you start to bleed again

--
silly lil fuckin poem

but, we all run.

the shards

take something broken
douse it with glue
but the cracks still show
some of them will never go away

with microscopic intensity
prepare, repair, despair
even if you join a torn thread
the knot will always be there

take all these shards
grind them into dust
throw them in the air
and please, breathe it in

these cracks are like memories
nails in the coffin of time
you scrub my skin till I bleed
but we can't get rid of the grime

--
what a useless day and a useless poem

where did this one come from

I have no idea

the circle

perfect paranoia
digital infection
dreams drag the dying
into a sleepless reaction
keys are like bees
flitting from word to word
rounding them all up in a circle
no name for this herd
it's 3 AM again
the timelines are all over places
imaginations infected
by the visions of diagrams of faces
so, come Monday
say hello to me
while I am too busy sleeping

mud

the sea is stretched out
like a rubber band
till the horizon
as far as the eye can see
it's taut, ready to launch
a missile towards an unsuspecting target
the sea is
waiting for me
but I can't go yet, no
there is a quicksand traveling with me
hands and feet stuck in the mud of my fears
i keep the mud wet with my collection of tears
all the anger, all the rage
i stick fingers down my throat
vomit poetry on this digital page
while my head is engulfed in a jagged cloud of pain
a little piece of my heart remains
in some forgotten mountains
as a hobby, just a hobby
i build pieces of my walls with my quicksand
just a man dealing with strange thoughts
thoughts no one can comprehend
and if my walls are not enough
if these bricks are much too rough
i'd build fences on top of them
trust me when i tell you this
these walls are not for keeping you out
they're here for keeping me in
i sit here in the prison of my making
silently rocking, smiling, shaking
my masks are wearing masks
and the man in the mirror always grins back at me
asking me if i'd ever see the sea

bees

i've got bees in my head
yes, sir a full hive
they buzz around all day
24/7 alive

a live wire of my thoughts
i think even when i'm thinking
in the quagmire of my head
i'm so slowly sinking

but the bees grab my hair
and they keep pulling me up
i tell them to let me drown
but the bees give no fucks

we're your thoughts, you fucking ass
we just can't let you go
we're in this together, fucker
don't you already know?

so i surrender to these bees
and they fill my head again
i think i should stop thinking
but i'm addicted to the pain
---
Procrastinating parrots propped prophesizing prophets permanently punctual.