It’ll be worse than the same,
Before we come to be like now: It’s no game
The same is not good
It’s just bearable, there’s some little food
Alas, it’s no good, not good at all.
We all are stuck in constant fall
It’s a shameful abuse,
And there’s no use
Because it is worse,
There’s divorce, lies and fierce chase
We hold our pain in our ice-cold case,
Very uncertain of what to come,
For now, we are calm of now --- the same,
We do not know the unknown,
But we are sure,
It will be worse than the same,
Yet the same is not good, it’s a ***** game.

That morning mentoring – to me,
Once upon a time- when I’m your son,
Was just a baby schooling,
For now, I thank you,
In today and its fruition,
Whether it’s just suspect
Or manifests at all,
Without my asking,
There is welcome on the door,
On faces, feet, rugs, walls and curtains,
Which speak about dwellings of bodies.
Yet at Horn-Bill Hill nearby, still pretentious teeth
**** chins that die of pain, fret of sense-vity,
Even Deers of South Hill village,
Compete with this gem,
Will those two find an escape route?
With an array of A.W.O.L’s for you,
So many meanings and beamings M.I.A,
But the irony is here,
In the Centre of this mammoth city,
Where I found reality,
At least I saw you.

I, Too, Spoke
In my silence, I said, “I have heard”
I nodded with my heart,
I saw and listened- then quietly laughed,
I knew your intention,
I saw you in my silence- all your actions
At times I fought back—I punched you,
And saw you bleeding, all in my silence.

I saw you touch me,
And in my heart, I laughed,
Your daring move,
You are so fast dude
In your moves,
Even without much acquaintance,
You were ******* me,
You rushed, I thought,
For the York, without breaking shell
I queried an intention,
And moves, ably conceived.

In my quiet, You spoke,
I heard your rejection,
I heard abuse and sarcasm,
I heard your resistance, when you looked,
I read your lips, in your quiet, And the noise was too laud,
Yet you didn’t speak,
You speak so laud, when you are mum,
And the noise is deafening.

After I heard wails and cries,
From many more silences and quiets,
Those that needed sympathy and care,
But you stuck your silence on my fate,
A silent decision which I saw,
For in your movement and quiet, I was gone,
You did not speak, but I listened,
And final judgement,
The moment of truth,
In name, ***, age and race,
I knew, I was dead on arrival,
There was no need to speak
But, I too, spoke.