Think the saddest thing about this land
Is how hard it tries to live
To hold, to let go— how it
Stills in the middle of a catastrophe
How it sings
Only when no one’s about to hear
How its silence
Is never wholly true

How the clouds go by
And the suns
The crescents grow up and pass
And people—
Yet it, shuddering, remains
And how it struggles
To weave peace out its
Wavering fields

And ever-dancing cities—
The dance of a Persian woman
In shackles
How it slaughters its own flowers
In search of their seeds
How it breaks apart
In the middle of a night
In the middle of a little girl’s question
In the middle of a smile

How the maidens
Keep on hanging their dresses to dry
And children keep hunting
For helpless worms
And snows melt into grasses
Till they too sail away
Yet it, shuddering, remains

How it will gnaw away the town
It carved itself
Feast upon its own beautiful bones
How hard it struggles to stir
In its own queer death
And how it will wither
And wither, and wither
And not tire—

It is its own hateful god.

People are not happy, so am I.
When you feel you have a great and wonderful life,
they tell you that you don't,
and ruin your day become a part.

You have to grow with a **** life
and people who are not happy always arounds you.
They are you sometimes in others.

You can't be changed by people.
But they always go wherever you go.

People are not happy, so am I.
A modern society life wants you to be like them.
But you are not people who are not happy,
so am I.

I saw an empty glass
I poured myself into it
Full, I wanted full
I drank it
I drank myself
Run out
I drank it up
I was swallowed up by force until all of it into the esophagus
I then saw the dark night sky
And it was three o'clock in the morning
Shadows, I saw shadows
And maybe it was myself
I saw a faint light from the ventilation of the bedroom window
And the street light
Also the air goes in and out of the room
I'm still sipping it
I'm still sipping it for today
I looked back at the dim light and looked for an empty glass
I poured myself back into it
Run out
Turns out, I forgot to buy it back
And I forgot myself
And I needed to go back

I would not love or trust a human,
Inspite of giving him
means to live,
Food, rain and oxygen,
He cuts me down to make his paper, furniture and charcoal,
Then he complains about climate change.
22/5/2021

I’m writing a poem
and I need a rhyme with ‘Cat’
but nothing kiddy
like ‘Sat’ or ‘Mat’
Something long
like a Cadillac
something for change
like a laundromat
Something as strong
as an acrobat
Something as rich
as an aristocrat
Something as catchy
as a copycat
Yet something
simple
something
clean
Something like that
If you know what I mean