if i were to write a history
of today's mankind
i will tell it
like a story
a fiction--people like fiction
they don't want themselves to be told
how ugly they are, sometimes
they don't want themselves to know
how cruel they are, to each other
most people
they are not bothered
of what other feel
and occasionally
and very often
people are left on their own
it doesn't matter
people are senseless
like a jeopardy
even their own existence
is a mirror of complete lie
but don't tell
it'll offend them greatly
don't try to reach out to people
and for some people
it's never enough
whereas there are people
in this world
who die out of hunger
thirst, human cruelty
let us first satiate ourselves
our greed, our appetite
nothing is enough
I'm a stranger
who wonders here and there
i don't recognize people
they judge, regardless
pointing fingers of how aimless i'm
i let myself be an aimless
looking at their gigantic ignorant feeding
this world is too big of a play
of people's games
if i were to write a history
i will form it into a story
of every mankind's state of misery
and mystic going
side by side

I don't write
because I've to write
I write because writing comes to me
I have to write
because i know the language of writing
it comes like a thinking pattern
it compels me
it seduces me
in this bizarre wave
like a drunk
i have no sense to lose myself
So i write
this writing is addicted to me
like a moth attracted to light
I on other hand
avoid, neglect
like a cruel lover
invoking passions in many hearts
and i break them
thinking in minds, that i crush
it's like a disease
and this blank page
it haunts me
night and day
and i fill it up
sometime i burn
sometimes i throw it away
i never read
in a sheer angst
i write
without thinking
it's thinking of it's own
we can't remember
how it started
this great journey comes to me
like a meaningless quest
and sometimes
or most of the time
i think about it
and when I'm not
I surrender myself to these words
who seem to be my only friend

write
sometimes only for words
for language, for nature
for beautiful things
like sunset, sky
smiles, heartfel conversations
sitting with strangers
feeling the air..
touching these objects
knowing the feel
of being alive
true and bright
there's no meaning
people don't worth your attention
they don''t see
they don't care
don't be like a world
they are running
like a circle
it doesn't take them anywhere
this something---they are not aware of
in their own race
they cry every minute.
knowing the truth in their heart
living a life
to please the world..
don't be good or bad
you will be judged nevertheless
it doesn't matter
when you find a story
it'll be a treasure
this story will transform whoever will read
meaning--of a complete notion of wonderful idea's
and those words.
they will be imprinted in hearts
of feelings...
mind, of a thinking one
for years to come
it will reflect a true reflection
of your own story
living in senseless times of greed
and power!

I am a narrative
of my own dictionary
there's nothing i need to keep it adorned
as i rarely see much of the world
other than nature
and the beautiful smile's
warm eyes
visionary minds
people don't fascinate me
shallowness
hollow mind's with greed to overcome
i let it be..
i'm not competing
to the world

it doesn't subtract me from my living
nor does it take me to its world
as i use my own words
undefined
careless and without of matter..

there's no subjection
or objection
i'm my own subject
there are dreams
I allow myself to be me
as i move here to there
one moment to other moments
i'm complete in this existence
i use words to rewrite me
when i'm removed by people
their thoughts, their wantings..

I choose not to be
as i read my own mind
I know i'm a quiet being
with no specific need.

i have to tell you
I remember
even the misty sounds of silence
deep glimpses of your eyes
there are times
when i am surrounded by images
sounds, voices
mystery and strange
i dont let anyone know it
like a great fictional memory
i remember
even the alphabets used in dialogues
so were the syntax of statements
this sun strike me
like a bus hits a man
a vagabond
of it's own
i'm like this
wondering on my own
to escape myself of the voices
and the sounds
visions
there are times
i hardly even bother to read
my mind becomes my diary
these alphabets become
my love life
so i solitary i keep them
without a need
to define.

I won't let you speak me
There's too much in my mind
and i won't let you read
you don't have to be anything
i won't have to taste it
i will taste it
even if it taste so bitter
and i'm so on my own.

i'm back on my own
with my black and white
and i don't know where to call my home
i'm my own home
i'm my own shelter
i don't have to be anyone
to be accepted
i don't have to be anywhere
to be seen
they know I'm here
true and kind

if you will call
i won't let you mind
this distance is fine
and i know you can't care
I've no heart to care
there's no big deal
i don't want you back

And I am fine with that
i don't have to pretend that i care
reminding myself of my lost mind
all my wasted energy
as i don't care
any less or more

there's too much in my mind
i need to speak
but i don't have time
as i've no heart
i had to see how you not bothered

I am so amazed
these changing colors
it's summer here
the sunshine is keeping me warm
i was cold in my own fire

did you see it
as i see you not noticing anything
you didn't see me leaving
there was too much in life that you wanted to keep
other than I,
so i didn't mind
your mind won't let you leave my thoughts.

But i won't care
i don't pretend.

every moment he was my child
it seemed he left me for another woman
those women; he complained were his companions
he felt solidarity
and that night---i lose myself of me
once more
he belonged to none, but myself
i wish i could paint him
there're no colors; i find solace
the tangible form and intangible idea's
i draw images in my mind with him being together
where no other women existed
and all this madness
i inherited in loving him too much
bit of anguish, a bit of longingness
and still craving for his touch ..
yet i wouldn't speak of this love
or sleep or hear
i know in your silences; i lost myself
with all the beatings of your heart
i possessed all the grace, and your light
occasionally i set myself apart from you
but i lost myself, to another woman
and each of your women, i lost every more of myself
it wasn't the greatest of the sadness
till i know
there is no love force in me
and in this confusion, you went away
to another woman, and to your women
all over you..
i would write you , in my each of letters
and in my alphabets and syntax of broken language
but i lose the power to write
to the force, i feel inward
and with every little of myself
i lose myself more of me,
and little by little,
i crave for you more
and i think of you in grandeur of this world
in hustle bustle of love
i think more of my great love
As i realize, the loneliness
is my greatest companion
and i'm the one, who belongs to loneliness
ahh, you shouldn't have let me go
this loneliness has gone over me
and yet, your women wouldn't leave you
making me see the loss of myself
every little while
this silence remind me of my greatest love
it reminds me of our possessed share
where there was everything but loyalty
in veiled colors
it seems i can't get over the days
of you being together with me
but your women came along
you felt consoled and you felt at ease
giving yourself to them
while keeping me in heart, you gained those women's attention
everything so untouched, and so distant
i feel my love more moving
close, and intense
your gazing is still over me
and i wish i could touch the sun
and sky, and stars
my heart, perhaps would feel at ease
perhaps i could adopt them
as my child ....as you were my own,
a piece drawn from me
but you were, another women's
those women were your face, your mind
and your life
but your heart...i touch your heart
even i feel this great warmth in me
moving for you, craving for you
i wouldn't still be your woman
and in him,
i felt a sharp pain of being a woman