What man under modernity, is free?
Comparative to the peasantry preceding
We must seem to be
Shackled to a strange form
Of self-induced slavery

Best and worst
words with no end
they can only be overtaken
by something else
because the future is a present
under next years tree!

I had a **** childhood
But at least the music was good

To someone like me, it has always been easy to pen down the pain
than to just dump it in the violently flowing rivers of the past
and forget it ever happened, it's been easy to etch every bit of it on the rocks
everyday and admire each and every melancholic tear it brought
it has been sour sweet painting every ugly scar and every bruise
and admire the blemishes on dirtied canvas than let heal
those grotesque wounds without any memo to remind me
because to me the hurt has but been an adventure on the map of my destiny
I've sailed past hard waves, I've gone through dark oceans
to both poles of the sphere and witnessed how cold this world can be
and I've even juxtaposed the north pole to the south
I've climbed the mountains I thought impossible,
hiked even the steepest of cliffs,sometimes fallen and fractured
I've gone against caution and whence my ribs ruptured
healed and painted the despondent healing process yet gone
ahead to find fresh memory to paint, to write, to etch.
I've not wasted my mistakes, not a single tear has gone for nothing
for some should learn from mistakes of those who lived before them
and if life is too short and uncertain to live to tell
let the marks on the rocks at the pinnacles tell the story,
let the sad painting on the canvas do,the sculptures
let the cacographs make sense to eyes keen enough to squeeze out some sap of wisdom
I've not cried, bruised, battled or stumbled for nothing
it is not for nothing I've lived my life the way I've lived
with no manual or mentor to point out the rough edges
the looming pitfalls and risks of living in the twilight zone on the fringes
it's not by mistake that the ship of life is rudderless to most of us
every bruise, every mistake, every imperfection has its page
just as every century, every decade and every millennium has its age
I often write about the uncertainty I live so that someday
someone will be grateful I spared some time to say
that those who didn't err,who didn't whimper,
who didn't have the luxury of looking struggle in the eye
and walk side by side with her didn't really know the truth about life
because it's from the tears that comes the beautiful smile
after the blunder that lies the precious stones of a mile
after the pain that comes the long awaited gain
for the star filled clear blue skies always show after the stormy rain
I pen my pain time and again, because laughter's easily forgotten
but the pains are like plastics, so close to impossible seeing them rotten

This world is dark wherein I roam,
often voiceless and all alone.
These things you think I cannot hear,
rest assured they're perfectly clear.

You see my friend there's something amiss,
and it's not unlike that very first kiss.
The event horizon breached by a meeting,
the most delightful of all the possible greetings.

Drifting and wading amongst so many souls,
aimlessly doubting they share the same goals.
Lamenting their woes and playing the fool,
never keeping in mind the golden rule.

It's in your nature to feel somewhat needed,
to serve a purpose many have pleaded.
To know that your death might bring them sorrow,
to know that sadness would visit their morrow.

Still though you stand there out in the rain,
thinking no others could know your pain.
Feeling alone and misunderstood,
I cannot help you I wish I could.

It is our tasks to wander this earth,
hoping and praying that time will give birth.
To a realization or an epiphany,
of knowing you are more than what you see.

The journey can **** and be rather daunting,
the spectre of loneliness forever haunting.
Fret not my friend upon looking you'll see,
there's to be no sorrow your will is free.

To love who you want with reckless abandon,
you may happen upon the right companion.
Someone who carest to ask about you,
to know of your fears or the size of your shoe.

Moments show up like scenes in a play,
some last for a while and some just a day.
Hold tight these firsts they may be your last,
before you join me as another outcast.