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Farhan Nov 2018
I sat down – to write.
On a white sheet with graphite.
Behind me a stool.
Enough to raise me – a fool.
Up above a fan.
Soon will suspend a man.
Is that it? I say.
No more a day after today.
The sheet is dry.
And I jot the letter ‘I’
I rehearsed this note.
A thousand times by rote.
Is this how it was to end?
Or this is how it is to end.
This sheet of paper and thyself.
Have traveled separately
To find a purpose on this table.
Was the purpose to write a suicide note?
And then hang self while the note watch me die?
I began to write,
And what I write, I read
And what I read, I begin to like
I befriend the sheet and graphite.
The graphite says, “I won’t give up until you do”
The sheet says, “Neither I until you two.”
And I say, “For you two I will never too.”
I go behind and climb the stool.
Held the blades of the fan and dust them,
Switch on the fan and the blades rotate.
Air fills the room and papers begin to fly.
I smell the air and say,
“My suicide note saved me.”
Some of it rhymes, some of it won't.
Farhan Nov 2018
From the graveyard shift of death,
We're granted a vacation of life.
Expanded from an earlier poem of mine on life. This is one way to look at it.
Farhan Oct 2018
In my court,
You were guilty.
But you pleaded not.
I was the lordship,
And our love was your defence
None was the prosecution.
And the result was your absolution.
A constant stream of arguments flow in my head (the court) as to whether she should be guilty of leaving me or not. I myself argue from her side that she should not be guilty. And that I put up a defence strong enough that the other voice shuts up (prosecution). I fight for her against myself.
Farhan Oct 2018
I am,
In the desert of solitude.
Farming.
Watering plants of memories,
With tears.
Fertilizing them,
With smiles.
In a hope.
Atleast one flower,
Could be so beautiful as you.
Farhan Sep 2018
When we cry.
Tears flow.
Becomes vapor.
Flow as rain again.
Goes on and on.
Tears never die.
Farhan Sep 2018
Reality is that I was trapped in a dream permanently.
A shower thought. I am always fascinated by dreams and life. When we see dreams everything appears real till we wake up. What if life and reality is we being permanently trapped in a dream. As Buddha says, "The mind is everything. What you think, you become". Or the very famous proposition by René Descartes, "I think, therefore I am".
Farhan Sep 2018
The unknown city
Enveloped in dark
So black even light would fear
She walks on barely visible
Standing still felt more frightening
She feels numb
She looks down and her legs missing
She see busses and cars
And trams and trains
Being driven by people and their eyes missing
There was sky but weather
There were trees but leaves
There were owls but feathers
There were bats all crying
She wanted to breathe and her nose missing
A strange sound plays somewhere around
Squeaks of abandoned seesaws and laughing clown
Playing an opera of horror
She wants to scream
Her voice choked
An immortal horror takes over
She hears a ring
A doorbell ring
She breaks her sleep
And realize it a dream
The bell kept ringing
She goes to the door
The door won't open
She looks at her bed
She is deep asleep
She shakes her up
She won't wake up
Tears roll on her cheeks her cry was missing
She wants to scream
Her voice was missing
She opens the door
The other side was missing
She turns around
She was missing
In the unknown city
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