The Bastard

The stink that rises from the city

A souvenir of the world left behind

For no matter where we go, a pity

We fill the sewers in our mind

The grinder in the gut, churning

The pain and discomfort, melt into one

The dumpster fire of thoughts, burning

Shadows dance to eclipse the sun

Waking up wrapped in needles and pins

Covered in the stink of an alien reflection

Black book, black ink, jotting down the sins

Blood, sweat, tears, come all in one

The whispered prayers go unanswered

The fog now covers the ground for miles

The roads forgotten, engine swerved

The bastard in the rear view mirror smiles

----

I left this unwritten for the longest time. I guess every poem needs to gestate. 

comfort

There is no comfort in this darkness

The ghosts have come alive 

The closets spit out rotting skeletons

Thoughts buzz like bees in a hive

This maelstrom of depravity will not subside

It only gets stronger with each moment

Common sense says run and hide

Curiosity says come see the end

The rat keeps gnawing at the rope

The last tether to sanity 

As masks fall away, grinning skulls appear

Hollow eyes leak out vanity

The fall never kills you

You die when you land

If this hole is neverending

What else is left to understand?

----

Have you ever wanted to scream?

burn

petals of a rose 

layers of an onion 

the endless spiral

once blind

now third eye sees

things that should not exist

the fear turns to rage

the heart engine roars

let there be no peace

only the cleansing fire

mother sun

embrace me once more.

we are all the same

little fucking virus

filled with need and greed

seeking comfort and validation

perhaps a fuck or two

a test tube of chemicals

slave to unknown masters

wrapped in chains of

rules and regulations

a decisive division

between thought and action

does one lead to the other

or vice versa

in the end it's all the same

those that slip up, are said as fools

we are all spinning in the same web

tied by threads of different colors

-------------

Are my thoughts really my own or a culmination of everything that has been?

swallow the flood

the water laps my knees 

and everything is fine

i drink away my sorrows

in vodka and wine

the water up to my thighs now

things swim and bite my toes

if I bleed, i do not care

if I can't see, it's not there

the water rises and rises till my belly

the hollow filled with calories and lies

the machine in my gut complains

but I let the water rise

up to my neck in this now

floating, forgetting to swim

the water makes its way inside me

and i let it win.

----

there is no point in writing a poem that would not kill you if it stays unwritten. this one is for the void.

A Post Tooting My Own Horn

This is a post of self-fellation, or tooting my own horn, and as much as I dislike it, some things need to be done. 

There is a book out there. And in the rare case that you have missed it elsewhere, which you might have, I am still going to shove it down your throat here too. Now you might know this space for angry poems that do not make any sense, but I also write stories that do not make any sense. Why, you ask? Because nothing makes sense at all, would be my answer. 

You can read the book on Kindle or buy it and read it in your browser!

Book: https://www.amazon.in/dp/B089Y12X1G/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/53931400-sea-dreams-and-other-mistakes

Broke because of Covid-19 but still like to read stories? Ask for a copy and I shall provide. Now don't ever think that I do not love you. 

That's it. 

I am off to write more poems that do not make sense. 

Leaf in a Storm

twist and turn 

crash and burn

impale the reason 

let the guts churn

doubt and horror

fear and terror

grin and bear it

dead eyes stare

face to face

close enough to kiss

how could we ever

let it come down to this

is the world ending now

will we live through somehow

is the past a part of the present

are we living in the now?

shall we continue to struggle

or should we let it go

will the leaf rise in the storm

or just flow?

----

These are horrible times, but that's alright because we are horrible people.