Glory to the one true king
The only one worthy of my praise
And the original verse which was written down
For the final song I will sing someday
Glory to him
The God of perfection
Who far above and beyond
All of these most imperfect thing
For I am not him
But I will do my best in everything
I try to kindle a sweet pupa
As I bring it here to my room
And I keep it there on the floor.
Then I start to observe it regularly.
Soon one day it starts to stir up
So I try to help the moth inside
And I cut its pupa with a knife.
What came out was a beautiful butterfly!
But the butterfly would not fly,
Instead it started squirming there,
And it looked quite pitiful grounded.
The natural struggle had been absent.
It was a sinful mistake at that time,
My helping it break open its pupa,
It had not learned to struggle.
I watched it staying so grounded there!
I could not make it learn anything,
My helping it metamorphose was bad,
And it was actually criminally awful,
Now it will spend its life thinking,
And only thinking that it is normal,
Lying & squirming was its capability,
I hate myself for ruining the pupa.
I have realized what mistake I made.
It was totally wrong trying to manipulate.
I'll admit that I should've stayed away.
Now the girl might never realize it.
But she had a lot of scope to toil hard.
Toil hard to reach the pinnacle of success.
I'm sorry to have ever come close to you.
Please don't be like the disturbed pupa.
You can do a lot of hard work yourself.
Please don't hesitate to work hard in India.
Away from India you have to work harder.
And I have known more stories of people who broke down.
Please don't think that you must do the opposite of whatever I say.
I rest my case in hopes that you will not do your own damage in a bid to show me that I have always been wrong.
I wish that I could revert the time back to December 31st 2012 wee hours when the actual damage happened behind the veil of love.
It was untimely love for you and me.
I don't say anything like you were immature for love at that time but I just wanted to recount the things as they came out.
My HP Poem #1469
That can't possibly be right.
I never planned on being this kind of crazy, but I don't hate it. This is not what we expected and yet somehow we're okay with it.
I'm being very vague, I know. But only some of us are going to know what happened. So I don't need to shout it to the rest of the world. The rest of the world doesn't really need to know what happened to us.
I'm not afraid to die some days.
Mainly because when I do get on with living, I get caught up in being so busy that I don't have time for death.
Or maybe that death will be gracious enough not to have time for me.
I wish I knew how to pick up the pieces of my life and try to put them together without losing anything on the way.
You know that I don't belong to anyone. And that no one belongs to me, I am not one to claim anything for myself.
I think that you are awesome. And you can decide to throw that to the back pages of your life story and I won't be mad at you. I'll just decide to keep writing and maybe the book won't seem so heavy on your heart.
But even as I say all of these great things about you. I cannot tell you that I am sure of what will happen to us. You can't have me.
And I will not be able to explain why. But I will say that I feel comfortable where we are now. Held in hugs and folded away with stray sheets of paper. I don't want to lose you, but I cannot say with confidence that I can be what you want.
Because as much as I care about you. We must understand that we are single people looking for connections in the network of our closest friends and family. And we don't always find what we're looking for.
And that is okay.
So when we decide to stop.
I will still call you gorgeous.
I will still walk with you down hallways.
I will still lean on you in the worst of times
I will still call on your name.
I will still call you awesome.
I will still call you amazing.
I will still call you beautiful.
I will still call you...
And I hope you will still call me.
I was taught to love you from birth
You raised me and taught me, watched me grow
As I'm older, you've changed
Rearranged the priorities I thought you had
I've had a hunger for knowledge for years
I thought you did too
Yet you yell about 'them'
'They're ruining america'
'I don't want them near me'
How did you raise me, how did I not know all this time?
How did you hold me in as an infant, with your arms balled up in fists?
How did you kiss me with poison on your lips?
I am from you, you are in me
Take my blood and let it reach your veins
I am immune to whatever plagues these childhood heroes
Maybe they got lost along the way
I've tried to help, but the poison takes over
Clouds their thoughts, they yell
I've looked up to them for twenty years
twenty ways they've wronged me
twenty ways they've hurt me
and twenty years still, I will love them
Because I will not kiss my children with poisoned lips
The poison stops with me
Writing this, in inflammatory sinuous paths,
Maybe, me, I am too ambitious.
Knowledge and awareness are vagues,
Perhaps better called illusions...
Even the strongest of opponents,
Always have blind spots...
But only a blind person can spot those weaknesses.
Is it foolishness to fear what we have been told,
Yet to see, possess and know it?
People never understand the chosen ways
Of perspective persevering life forms.
The ways of uplifting felonious,
I have seeing them malicious fiends,
They considering themselves as idols.
They all took some sacrifices,
Just to get in such positions...
Maybe them, they too religious.
Non-know about our sleepless nights...
There those who do not know no better ways,
They get cold and turn to be nousless.
Safety comes to whoever knows of righteousness...
These corners contain all types of predicaments,
That combine with our treacherous nights,
Into be some sort of amorphous,
Like somebody chose us.
Weeks back I had nightmares,
Stack with fiends in them trenches,
Sinking in them trenches,
Stretching for my dreams,
While dreams are said to be thoughts,
I dare you to think about pandemoniums.
Malevolently they want to see me breathless,
Inevitable for it to occur in any case or cases,
Or to contemporaneous in my dreams...
Solitary thoughts made me piously bias,
With all the words and papers I am pathos,
It is golden, whether it is speech or speechless,
Action acts with expression louder than words,
But words are stronger and meaningful than any type of action, acted with any type of expressions,
Said in strangest terms...
Also the truth...
Builders built the world you see
To make it fit for you and me
Little houses don't you know
Little houses in a row
Roads and bridges
Farms and fridges
Builders built the world so who can disagree
They sowed the seeds that fit the he in she
And body clocks
Builders built the world to be
Beautiful and fair and free.
Good builders are we all
From our caves and curtain calls
But deep inside train wreckers hide
To tear the towers of hope aside
With their box of rusty nails
They try to steer us off the rails
But build and build and build we will
Then roll a pebble down the hill
Witness these old weathered hands
See the anvil what it withstands
Streets and lanes
Heart and veins
Craftsmen ply their wares
And manufacture stairs
While builders go on dreaming
Adding cornice to the ceiling
Builders built the world you know
Bit by bit so hope may grow.
It's been said...
"Everything happens for a reason..."
It's what keeps me going.
Helps me to let go of the past.
It gives life a rational explanation.
There's something they don't tell you.
It's the worst part about it, too.
Makes you question everything.
Puts doubts in your mind.
Is waiting for the reason.
drifting in and out of wakefulness
feeling everything and nothing all at once
that lump in my throat
but i can’t cry
i shut my eyes and press against them my palms.
i see swivels and vanishing spirals,
i see everything and nothing all at once
and i’m begging for it not to stop.
i scream into a pillow leaving traces of saliva
i still can’t cry, i still just can’t cry.
my head hurts like a hundred fingers flicking at it
it tingles like ants crawling underneath.
it feels sunken like the titanic with all its people
and i’m jack in the freezing water.
my eyes heave and try fluttering shut
i say no, not now.
it’s strange how my brain is a different entity,
almost like a guest that is always “going to leave”
but ends up staying the whole time.
maybe if i slit my forehead open
the ants under my skin will stop
maybe my head will finally feel light
even though my hair has been gone for days.
dear disheveled mind,