To someone like me, it has always been easy to pen down the pain
than to just dump it in the violently flowing rivers of the past
and forget it ever happened, it's been easy to etch every bit of it on the rocks
everyday and admire each and every melancholic tear it brought
it has been sour sweet painting every ugly scar and every bruise
and admire the blemishes on dirtied canvas than let heal
those grotesque wounds without any memo to remind me
because to me the hurt has but been an adventure on the map of my destiny
I've sailed past hard waves, I've gone through dark oceans
to both poles of the sphere and witnessed how cold this world can be
and I've even juxtaposed the north pole to the south
I've climbed the mountains I thought impossible,
hiked even the steepest of cliffs,sometimes fallen and fractured
I've gone against caution and whence my ribs ruptured
healed and painted the despondent healing process yet gone
ahead to find fresh memory to paint, to write, to etch.
I've not wasted my mistakes, not a single tear has gone for nothing
for some should learn from mistakes of those who lived before them
and if life is too short and uncertain to live to tell
let the marks on the rocks at the pinnacles tell the story,
let the sad painting on the canvas do,the sculptures
let the cacographs make sense to eyes keen enough to squeeze out some sap of wisdom
I've not cried, bruised, battled or stumbled for nothing
it is not for nothing I've lived my life the way I've lived
with no manual or mentor to point out the rough edges
the looming pitfalls and risks of living in the twilight zone on the fringes
it's not by mistake that the ship of life is rudderless to most of us
every bruise, every mistake, every imperfection has its page
just as every century, every decade and every millennium has its age
I often write about the uncertainty I live so that someday
someone will be grateful I spared some time to say
that those who didn't err,who didn't whimper,
who didn't have the luxury of looking struggle in the eye
and walk side by side with her didn't really know the truth about life
because it's from the tears that comes the beautiful smile
after the blunder that lies the precious stones of a mile
after the pain that comes the long awaited gain
for the star filled clear blue skies always show after the stormy rain
I pen my pain time and again, because laughter's easily forgotten
but the pains are like plastics, so close to impossible seeing them rotten

There are tears
but of a different kind
not born of one's own suffering
but that which affects our heart and mind--

that ubiquitous sorrow with which so many are afflicted
helpless in suffering, deprivation, neglect, loneliness, fear and pain
(who dares stand up and proclaim:? This is the age of  peace and plenty!'
it's the same political and business people's rhetoric---over and over again.

There's little hope or respite
wars darken the sky and soldiers fall
in daily battlefields
while leaders make their inhuman and infamous call

'To arms, to the glory of our nation
to the defence of our faith and ideology'
while on the roadside the innocent--young and old-
perish in cold and hunger-- who will shed the tears of our century?

You can have talent
You can have skill
You can have experience
But if you don't have patience...
...then all the above attributes count for nothing
For if you possess patience
There is virtually nothing that you can't achieve

The fan is making angry.

Its hot but the sound of the blades spinning and catching air is deafening.

My heart is sore drumming through my chest.

Im hot from heat and hot from emotional overload.

There's nothing that can be done.

Don't even ask.

I don't want to talk, think, see, or even hear.

I want to be left the **** alone.

This fan is driving me crazy, but if I turn it off I'll be hot.

Im attempting to find a pattern in my breaths.

Im waiting for my heart beat to slow and steady.

The sound of the **** fan is driving me crazy...

Im not crazy...

But if you speak, I may scream.

Please stop trying to help.

Your helpfulness is feeding my pain.

The fans so **** loud, and NO you can't help!

Your driving me crazy...

But Im not crazy, maybe just a little angry.

The fan is the least of my problems.