White, black, green, and red,
Waving a flag.
Let the world know
There is a right to be alive—
The people of Palestine have,
In their own olive land.

Yes, I was wrong,
and you were right.
I’ve agreed.

I’ve agreed:
I was wrong, like a devil,
and you were right, like a god.

I’ve accepted.
But here’s the irony—
I was created by you.

I knocked on the door.
She asked, "Who?"
I did not reply anything.

She opened the door
And saw nothing.

So, you’re looking for a God.

Yes, that’s true.

May I know why?
To find the ultimate truth?

Yes, that’s right.

May I suggest one thing?

Yes, please.

Be human first, or else
You would end up picking up a devil.

I placed my hand on an orphan's head
and said, "Don't cry.
If you cry, your mom will cry too,
from heaven."

The child wiped her tears
with her ripped-off sleeve.

I kissed her forehead
and said to the Creator,
"Let me know, please, what you feel!"

The things I can see, the things I can't see,
the things I can imagine, the things I can't imagine—
they envelop everything at some point, right?
The origin of everything is nothing; in other words,
nothing is the origin of everything.
Except there was a will, there is a will,
and there will be a will.

Feeling nothing is somewhat appreciable,
but being blind enough, deaf enough,
and numb enough not to feel the will
is extremely unfortunate.
I am that unfortunate one. So, who to blame? Myself!
So, am I playing the blame game or the victim game?
But I can’t ignore it; I feel the vacuum, and it always.

Oh Rain! Comes to me
And drenches me,
drenches me so deeply
that I can feel I’m a tree.

You are the creation of my hell-pain,
and I must confess that I have painted this pain
with so much care and love,
bit by bit, bit by bit—
like the way dead leaves hide the earth,
hiding so silently, like an owl were spreading her wings
into the dark, which is still unknown to me.

And I do believe that sailing was in the Creator’s thought.
So, I have not been looking for the reason ever since.
And on that imperative lone voyage of mine,
I sailed my soul towards a directionless world,
where the word 'you' does not make any sense.

Now, standing on the verge of that meaninglessness,
I let everything go—truly, everything.

November eighth, two thousand twenty-four.
It’s a quarter to midnight.
Fifteen minutes left until November ninth.
I’ve got it, I’ve understood, I’ve obliged.
And that’s all it’s about,

But still, I’m holding on.
Though it doesn’t make sense, I know — so let it go.
Past is past, no matter what.
I’ve got it, I’ve understood, I’ve obliged.
And that’s all it’s about.

But you know what:
Who I am now,
It’s all accumulation of previous, no matter what.
Though it doesn’t make sense, I know — so let it go.
I’ve got it, I’ve understood, I’ve obliged.
And that’s all it’s about, so let me go.

Come and kiss my lips
And say, “Still I'm yours.”

Or come to my grave,
Plant a tree,
And kiss a leaf,
And say, “I will be yours.”

I stood blindfolded, standing before  
a rotten, dead body, perhaps.  
My gut twisted horribly  
from the stench of the decaying corpse  
of someone I didn’t know—perhaps.

A lieutenant stood a few meters behind me,  
pointing an LMG at my head and said:  
“What do you think?”

“Listen carefully—  
your thoughts are a matter of  
life and death. Now, speak.  

What do you think  
about this rotting dead body?  
What do you think?  
Is it a he, or is it a she?

What do you think?  
Was it a Muslim, a Christian,  
a Buddhist, a Hindu, or a Jew?

What do you think?  
Was it black, brown, white,
Or somewhere in between?  
What do you think?”

Then the lieutenant screamed:  
“Why you ******* silence?  
I’ll give you a count of ten to decide,  
and then you’ll face the consequence.”

He began to count:  
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,  
four, three, two, one; zero.”

“What is your last wish?” the lieutenant asked.

I replied, “I want to see the rotten dead body.”  
Someone removed my blindfold,  
and I saw it was no one else—  
it was me.

It’s drizzling, the sky is covered
with dense clouds,
though it’s autumn.
I’m walking on the dark road,
a wet road.
The clock has touched
almost the middle of the night.

I put my left hand on my chest
and feel the heartbeat.
Walking and thinking.
Thinking about the perspective
of walking in the middle of the night
under the rain with a few street dogs.

1.
It is a late afternoon of a late autumn.
I’m looking outside through my window,
seeing the golden sunray,
feeling the drifting winds through leaves.

Thinking what she is doing now!
She used to let me know always,
once, what she would do.

Kinda memories you know;
drifting me in a late afternoon of a late autumn.

2.
The aroma of cream coffee, reminding me,
I’m losing my warmth, by passing time,
you should hold me and sip me.

The coffee I made approx 10 minutes ago
with utmost passion,
where I have almost lost,
lost the inspiration to continue my time.

3.
It feels like kinda hypocrisy,
Making coffee, still with that much passion!

An old elephant’s tears,
Yes, of course, it's unable to bear!
You know, something like,
A lost sailor in a dead ocean,
No waves, no winds,
Just a grave, grim stagnant motion,
Too grave to hear, too grim to care.

Bear this motion for so long,
The whole civilization
Has simply gone extinct,
From the mind, the mind
Which once was ‘fabulous,’
And held an entire nebula.

But has now completely gone off,
Gone off probably from everything!

Standing at that point of limitless dark,
My eyes are full of tears,
With an old elephant’s tears.
Yes, of course, it's unable to bear!

I know the rain, know the poems of clouds.
I can understand the songs of thunder.
Yet the desert belongs regretfully,
though the River Nile exists.
Still, there is deep sorrow in the way of life.  

I’m feeling sorry,
to feel the harsh, dry throat in the desert.  
In spite of the sparkles of blueberry wine,
the thirsty heart feels more thirsty.
In a blank whole mind,
there are shadows of the crimson horizon.

Still, I want to go back—

Though some words of mine,
still stuck in a dusty blue envelope, as like
sunlight is fading in an unknown evening sky.  
And I can’t let anyone know to stay beside.

Honey, you can go now.
Find someone who has good health
and a lot of money.
He can give you a comfortable life
as well as a pleasurable one.

I can live with the memories
you gave me. I can.

If you feel you need me
at any time during your life,
you will find me, if I’m not dead.

Maybe I won’t give you good food.
Maybe I won’t give you any pleasure.
But you’ll have a skinny shoulder to cry on.

I will wipe your tears with
my t-shirt that looks like a napkin.
You can go now,
to someone who is worthy of you.

Before the mirror, I see another mirror,
and its countless reflections.
I'm counting one by one, one by one,
one by one.

Which you may call infinity.

In my brain, there is a relentless,
skinned-off *****’s screaming,
and her unborn seven puppies'
pounding heartbeats.

And it's revolving, revolving in a loop
without any rest or any tiredness.

But I'm ******* tired now,
and dealing with an invisible revolver
and an endless, narrow, dark alley.

– I won’t mind,
If you are a moss-green butterfly,
Hovering on a cannabis flower,
In a night where everything
Is awfully, bluish silent.
And get your inspiration
To deal with the next morning
In a decent way. It seems
Everything is fine, and it’s okay.

If the sun ate the world tomorrow,
I would not feel any sorrow.

The cockroach on a ***** sink of mine,
and I would follow
the same fate indeed tomorrow.

As we lived in the world,
we would all know
we were all equal.
Before all we were swimming in the sun,
if the sun ate the world tomorrow.

Hey! Who are you?
I wonder!
Please don’t go, please!
Why are you so quiet?
Can’t you hear my voice?
Or can’t you understand my language?

Hey, please don’t go.
Okay, no need to say—
Who you are,
Just stay.
Please.
I’m begging,
Can’t you see?

Hey, don’t go.
HEY, DON’T GO!
ARE YOU DEAF?

(A frozen voice)
“I’m the Angel of Death,
And this is not your time to go.”

(I said)
It’s okay.
Please stay.
Sit beside me.

Don’t leave me alone.
Don’t let me live alone.
Or take me to there,
where silence even doesn't feel lone.

I'm waiting for someone,
Who is actually no one.
She promised to me,
And I keep me waiting, so that
She can keep her promise
That she made to me.

Human gods are feeble,
They need fights to make them stand.
To give my worship,
I have chosen the god of animals.