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2.2k · Apr 2020
Hardworking Girl
Sleepless, tired every day,
working for hours no one remembers,
daylight and moonlight don’t get a say,
her clock is her own she says,
queen of night, her struggle initiates,
raise our hats to every hardworking girl.

Her eyes tell the story,
of how they broke the rules of sleep,
sky commands​ world to witness the sunrise,
humanity rises and she falls asleep,
even in dreams her spirits don’t rest,
Nights don’t dare touch hardworking girl,

Bags under her eyes and still she won’t quit,
goals and dreams always chasing,
still she creates time to help a ******,
he humbly praises God for her being,
touches every soul she ever meets,
words are too small for that girl.

Some say she is a myth,
around every corner I find her,
shies away strongest metal on Earth,
fire so severe of determination,
I now weep in her praise,
story of every woman, this hardworking girl.
926 · Apr 2023
Fat man
A fat man is walking,
with no boots on,
there he goes that *****,
on his great journey around.

He is staring at the reality,
from which he is away,
misery surrounds him,
and he laughs now at them.

The pain of all is a mockery,
to the fat man,
who has no boots on,
this is just typical humanity.

He has no dealing with it,
why would he be bothered,
decided just to strut,
and walk all over their dread.

Mocks them, they will not,
never ever understand,
pain of never being happy,
they only know sadness with happy.

He cherishes the mad walk,
and keeps going,
with his bare legs,
on the mud-filled path.

Women nursing children,
shouts at him,
he laughs cause he only sees,
the pain and misery awaiting.

The fat man laughs at the worker,
the toiler, a man with blisters,
what is there to bleed from,
their grit makes him hysterical.

All this noise chases him,
and he still laughs,
running on a land dry,
runs with that maniacal grin.

His feet take him to,
child with broken dreams,
men with hollow eyes,
woman with dried soul.

Did he ever see,
what he wanted,
can the fat man understand,
the true meaning of being happy.

The pain he seeks is all he sees,
he sees the horror and sorrow,
he grins and then,
goes in hysterics.

For he is the fat man,
with no boots,
he just wishes pain,
cause he loves to hate.

Oh, he just loves to hate,
all the joy in the world,
he wishes on their soul,
who has ever seen the good days.

The never-ending grief,
he wants to see, but he knows,
that this pain will also end,
and he walks away before it be.

These men, women, and children,
will get the fruits,
of their toil and care,
as they will see it to the end.

The end where is the light,
which forever shall allude this man,
this fat man who runs,
mocking and hating everything.

He never stays, he is scared,
those hopes will get hold of him,
touch his darkened soul,
and he would stop, try and see.

He just wants all to become him,
to loathe in regret, shame and greed,
await the ever-increasing sadness,
all be a part of black hole misery.
399 · Apr 2023
Time, hardships, Conquer
drops of rain,
stop suddenly do they,
for just a moment,
waiting for it to resume.

time, the great controller,
the ever hurting phenomenon,
first of all,
waiting for the end of all.

the traveller on it,
lives according with no,
past to turn back,
just walk past.

hardships it gives,
I see them, I judge them,
to dodge them,
or to face them.

hardships they do give,
a choice to handle them,
its up to you and me,
and sometimes up to time.

To deal with them,
run away from them,
to crush and crumble,
run and be scared forever.
222 · Jun 2020
A Gift
Life, if not a gift,
then what else is it,
a hurdle race, yes,
but are they for you to stop.

Did you lose hope?
why was then no despair?
why didn't you give in?
to the anger, why you lived?

You still regret, don't you?
those old memories,
why are there now comparisons?
with people, you care no more.

You have an ambition,
desire to achieve,
dream you can't unsee,
then don't sleep in sadness.

FIght back the tears,
no moment to spare,
conquer your fears,
a gift then will emerge.
214 · Jun 2020
You
You
what are you,
a husk of what the world demands,
their expectations and beliefs,
but not all is them

Some are your expectation,
but where are they coming from,
what wastelands are these lunatic ideas from,
spawning an undue end.

Psyche of yours,
moulded through hammers of plenty,
in the fire of false pretenses,
is any of you even real

Do you see the small hints,
your true self, the loathful one,
how long will you sustain such ignorance,
false faces on dead ideas

granting their wish to bring down,
with the grace and might of a maggot,
soul of yours will forever question
where do they start and when you end
when you start questioning what you really want and what the world wants you to desire

— The End —