People like you and me have grown used to dancing along,
To the raggedy tune of someone else's song.
We are able to dance, and smile, and duck, and roll, and weave,
While still clinging tightly to the things that we believe.
Sometimes we are led to believe we will lose it all; our heart, our soul, our very name,
Afraid they'll take away the us-ness of us; but still we play their game.

I wonder how many others know how to fake their hand?
Who keep the love caged up inside, to appear "normal" and bland?
Perhaps it is just us, perhaps just you, or, again, perhaps just me,
Or perhaps each individual just sees what they want to see.

Perhaps.

Perhaps...

Or perhaps, but...

I had a vision once; all the bad thoughts in the world were mine;
I ****** them in from everyone else, so that all the world felt fine,
And while all other folk were safe at rest, I cried and cried and cried,
And toddled down some empty street, slumped down a wall, and died,
Taking with me all the evil thoughts- the hate, the pain, the strife;
I believe it was the happiest I'd felt in all my life.

I tell you that to tell you this; all people's pain is pain to me,
And I would gladly give you happiness, in exchange for misery.
Don't keep those thoughts locked up inside, and hoard them for your own,
Or both you and I will surely die depressed- afraid- alone.

Because I’m alone,
I can enjoy the silence.
Even when my many, many, but oh so many thoughts are rambling around as loud as a heavy metal concert.

Because I’m alone,
I realized I have amazing conversations skills.
I mean THE. ABSOLUTE. BEST.
Even though I'm mostly talking to myself.
In my head.

Because I’m alone,
I can read the book I always wanted to finish.
While eating at the corner table of the fast food I decided on.
Alone.

Because I’m alone,
I can play the music I want out loud.
Not worrying about others taste.
Doing the air guitar solo.
Without being weird in anyone's eyes.
But my own.

Because I’m alone,
I don’t have to think about what I say.
Or say what I think.
Or think of what I should’ve said.
Or say anything at all.

Sitting. Eating. Talking. Laughing.
With everyone.
In a group.
Where everyone is everyone’s friend.
I realized that I have always been alone.
Even when I’m not.

On some days,
My sadness is small ;
As small as a teardrop rolling down my cheek.
And on the others,
It's too huge to fit into my hands.
It stretches, it expands
And becomes a giant monster.
It visits me on lonely nights
With lilies and chocolates.
It slits my skin
And pulls out my veins
Like guitar strings
And plays a strange rhythm.
It sings gloomy songs to me
And makes me eat bitter memories for dinner.
On some days,
It hides inside my pocket like a baby bird;
And on others,
It holds my hand
Like my lover
And we go out for a walk.
It makes love to me every night
We blend into each other;
So perfectly that
We become indistinguishable.
But when I try to leave,
It screams,
Groans,
Cries,
Howls like a wolf.
It throws the crockery at me
And cuts my skin with a knife.
It bites me
And strangles me until I'm out of breath.

~ Dishita Kaushik

We are
on the forefront
of a revolution.
Our generation
holds the key
to eternal peace.
We are
the rising tide,
the ones
that will shift
the tipping point
of our world.
We will
ride the wave
to a new millennia,
or let it crash
against
the breakwall.

We have a choice.

Be the lighthouse
that shines
through the storm,
or repeat history
in one more
****** war.

What will you stand for?

My business is words. Words are like labels,
or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
I confess I am only broken by the sources of things;
as if words were counted like dead bees in the attic,
unbuckled from their yellow eyes and their dry wings.
I must always forget how one word is able to pick
out another, to manner another, until I have got
something I might have said...
but did not.

Your business is watching my words. But I
admit nothing. I work with my best, for instances,
when I can write my praise for a nickel machine,
that one night in Nevada: telling how the magic jackpot
came clacking three bells out, over the lucky screen.
But if you should say this is something it is not,
then I grow weak, remembering how my hands felt funny
and ridiculous and crowded with all
the believing money.

'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom. It's the awful raincoat
making me look like a selfdefeated self-murdering imaginary gangster, an idiot in a rueful coat, how can they understand my damp packs - my mud packs -
„Look John, a hitchhiker'
„He looks like he's got a gun underneath that I. R. A. coat'
'Look Fred, that man by the road' „Some sexfiend got in print in 1938 in *** Magazine' –
„You found his blue corpse in a greenshade edition, with axe blots'

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"