Sometimes, I simply think of colours, you know.
The world is so complex, the human brain and the ocean unexplored, wars and marriages are battling with its side effects and a lot of good goes ignored, so sometimes, instead of Newton, I think of colours.
Like black. What if black is just the ink squeezed from a blind man's dreams?
And yellow, the Sun's abominable hot ****?
What if Snow White was just a Snow"man", a 5 year old created
but forgot to add the nose to?
Was it Olaf disguised as Charming who broke the sleeping curse with "true love's kiss"?
You can hit the bandwagon and say "Haha! Then, white is an angel's ****!"
And I could believe you!
I'm a believer!
I'm also a wild guesser! I'm the harlot of semantics, or whatever that is.
I have never met a naive gold digger, except of course, a gullible beggar.
I hate vulnerability, but then I hate strength too,
because I revel in crying and feeling my face wet and pretty
secretly waiting for a stranger's **** to give me sympathy.
Let me tell you something today.
You can give me food, clothing, warmth and a shelter to sleep under, but if you can't give me peace, comfort and acceptance, my world inside my mind and soul is a thunder waiting to erupt once I lose you and never bother to come back.
I would care less for love in fact.
I guess I'll go searching for a Kentucky's to ravish on a chicken leg with my legs up and heave a sigh of having found solace in no bra!
I see a rosary dangling down a fat woman's pious chest and I think of Jesus Christ.
70% of the world's population celebrate the man who died on the cross and topped it off with resurrection
And then again, I think of valiant soldiers who die on the borders trying to protect their nation
Who are grieved and honoured for a day, no, not celebrated no! They are forgotten.
This ******* contrived sense of sacrifice and nationalism is causing to humanity, its suffering and damnation.
Eve offered and Adam ate! Stupid snake! Because, when I didn't know any better I was too scared to *******!
All these esoteric questions and theories and debates and elocutions and apologetics and guesses, what's the ******* point?
The sanctimonious have the God of gaps, the Spaghetti monster for the iconoclastics and then we have the ******* with a  purpose to save the planet from overuse of plastics!
"There's a lot wrong with this world today and we MUST change IT!", asserts a 14 year old onstage in an air conditioned school,
where hundreds have gathered in an international thinktank for "imitating truce".
What is maturity? Tenacity? Or Acuity?
Do you understand subjectivity?
So, just because I'm 20 now, it's hilarious to still watch me drinking milk instead of "adult tea"?
I would rather listen to stories of people who've travelled the planet and lived to tell about it all, than load Stories on Instagram of people who barely make it across the hall.
And I wish I could say "Social media can **** my *****."
Because in this planet of intelligent creatures, one gender accuses, the other waits and muses, so the former forms a movement, hoping for some improvement, but really all this is a sham. All of this? It's just entertainment.
It's not about free will, it's about freedom.
It's not about fear and dogma, it's about reason.
It's about effortless loving with no condition. NO condition.
My mother says all the time "Live and let live", and I believe this is the only greatest gift we can give, to people around us and unto us, also to forget and forgive.
Why seek for mankind's origin and destiny? Why not find the  purpose we need to serve right now?
What can you do now?
And this will never have a proper ending, because I like it that way.
The world will never change, I snigger knowing because there was just one thing the Priest said right, "And we all like sheep have gone astray."

Teach your child
to plant a tree
than pluck one
that was never
her own entity
but its own

Teach your child
to make  a painting
of a flower
as a gift
than give a bouquet
that will die soon
or instead
teach her to
give a sapling
that will grow
into a memory
which will hold
much power

Teach your child
to question
than cower
to vain rules
and illogic
that steal her
playful affection
and her artless frolic

Teach your child
to climb trees
before the
ladders to
supreme echelon

Teach her
that when she collapses
she must stand up
with grace and poise
like the shining sun
for after
the night
is done
laying its darkness
it rises again
the sun

Teach your child
the colors of mankind
Yellow or Orange
Red or Brown
Black or White
to accept each one
everyone
without the division
of vanity
of power
or a crown

Teach your child
to create
her own meaning
of Love

Teach her to
listen to the story
of every tear
that bears grief
and to
speak aloud
to bespeak
wisdom and virtue
in brief

Teach your child
about the freedom
in and of the mind
before she rebels
to venture outside
with people
who care less
about her kind
but more about
filling the space
on a car seat

Teach your child
to believe
in possibilities
and have faith
in the certainties
of unlocking mysteries

Teach her
to fuel
her curiosities

Teach your child
values that were not
taught to
the crowd
then you will
stand a mother
full and proud.

"That night when you kissed me,
I left a poem in your mouth,
and you can hear some of the lines
every time you breathe out."

-Yarn, Andrea Gibson

She sat straight and suave by the bar counter. Her brown, wavy hair
curved along her delicate waist. Her long and manicured fingers gently
held her glass of whiskey and she took sips from it, gazing off into space.
She likened the least bit of a celebrated model with high fashion looks or
one of a potential bud waiting to be found, but she was beauty
unfathomable. So intricately built was her face, that the matted lipstick
on her full lips felt honored within its contours and peaks and the
eyeliner sought delight in adding a magical depth to her dark brown
eyes.
But she sat there alone.
She was the only glowing light in the dimly lit bar, in the form of an
alluring pulchritude, but neither did she have any man flocking within
inches of her nor any woman as company.
“Sameer! 10 o’clock! In white. God, she’s a stunner!”, Ishaan remarked.
“Not now, Ish. I need to send this e-mail to Jeff right now. Gotta impress
that American and lock my possibility of a promotion.” said Sameer
typing his e-mail with one hand and sipping his beer from another.
“Then, we are off from here. Too tired to flirt tonight.”, Sameer
responded in an unvarying tone.
“I don’t know, man. There’s something about her. Who knows, she’d
probably be far better than that chick you wooed last week.”, Ishaan
laughed as he said.
“The one who cuddled her teddy bear at the end of the night? I felt done,
dude.”, Sameer sighed and continued tapping on his keypad.
A few minutes later, Sameer veered his head off his smartphone and
looked at the direction his friend had been pointing at with a curious
expression only a man could produce.
She sat there smiling at a group singing the Happy Birthday song aloud
for their friend, clanging their beer bottles with each other’s and
bellowing cheers.
Whilst Sameer sat there staring. She was one of the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. Although, he realised he had associated himself
with that statement before, but tonight, this woman raised the bar high.
Almost as if struck by an intuition, she turned towards Sameer and their
eyes locked for a few seconds before she let go with an innocent smile
that almost seemed to ****** him.
She continued to drink her glass of spirit and engaged herself in a small
talk with the bartender.
“Hey, um Ishaan?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s go. Gulp your beer down, I’ll be waiting in the car.”, Sameer took
one last look at that bedazzling woman and walked out of the bar with a
heavy sigh.
“You’re funny. A guy like you lets go of a girl who looked so worth the
attention which you give to all the other stupid advances out there.
Lame.”, Ishaan shook his head and almost looked disappointed.
“Well, you should’ve given your shot, if you felt I was being an *** in
there.”, Sameer pulled the car off the parking lot.
“I don’t think I could have, actually. I could have, but I don’t think I
could have, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t deny it but she was fiercely intimidating.”
Sameer looked at Ishaan and smiled.
Watching the man leave the bar, she drank the last sip from her glass,
placed it on the counter with a faint thud, sighed and eventually smiled,
tucking the flick of her hair behind her ear.

Not yet, he wasn't entirely bare
She was, but she didn't care
Hungry, he grasped her breast
and tasted its ***** crest
The same process followed
but his ***** never subdued
Yet, today he had tears in his eyes
and down there, a warm string of ***
While she ****** and swallowed
He drank a glass of ***.

Like a mad tune you ring
Reverberating
Inside the turmoil of my head
Calming the fret
Strange notes you play
Like the petals of a rose
Falling on a flamenco guitar
On a lifeless day
Where words I mumble are in prose
In my world where silence is ******
And joy is unknown
I listen to
The queer notes that you plucked
Dark curtains are torn
Easing the tension
In my spirit
This music you create
Is all but silence
And sans it
The petals of the rose
I reckon
might sadly wilt.

Sometimes
she was a feast
causing sin
to the eyes of many
The other times
she was a beast
an aesthetic ruin
laboring for a penny.