So even the hot days can end,
Clouds can cover the sky as if nothing remained.

We are all hypocrits in mind's eye
We hate the sun for being hot, but desire it's warmth
We hate summer when winter's just as cruel
And hate the rain for pouring;
But talk about how the soil touches our soul.

She is eager, wants

to have me, yet not give up --


anything for me.

You bask in the warmth of sickening riches, and it sickens me.
Oh I have no angst against wealth when earned honestly,
honourably and with toil, endeavour, and skill.
But wealth and fortune amassed and enjoyed in that warmth whilst others wilt, no.
Is not wealth at all.
The old, sick, unfortunate, and honest, shiver, starve and die when you could act.
Your fortunes earned when all around you, those that built your country,
that taught your children or cared for your family slowly succumb to the cold.
You, corporate killers and all the rest, enjoy that warmth for it is a sad warmth.

I was hungry
I came to the fountain
Knowing I’m hungry
It won’t **** the craving
But I was hungry

Shaking, I whispered
“Just a drop and I’m grateful”
The liquid won’t end the pain in my stomach
But I was hungry

I remembered I missed my chance
The ground, once full and divine
Now empty and dry

I waited
Waited waited waited wait-
As if God was back by my side
A single drop fell straight on my eye

Ticking down my cheek
Almost asking for a peek
My prayer traveled into my lips
A second of complete bliss

“Maybe if I wait a bit more
Another drop will come and fall”
I waited and waited and waited
I’m still hungry

Syrupy cinnamon fronts the taste of blood
They scoff without dignity
Their rich grins devouring the cheap treat
As the sun beats down intermittent

No real suffering, no starvation of thousands

Stand by the gift shop
Our saviour wore flip flops
Our greenhouse of primacy

To not know anything of greed...
Or of the penniless preacher who sowed a misconstrued seed

Which is worse ,
To live as a monster,  
Or die a good man?  

Everyone climbs the ladder;  
At the top,  
“Bottom” is not in their vocabulary.  

No service comes without coin,  
No good deed without exchange.  
Like an overcrowded boat,  
Only the strong survive,  
And ruthless measures pave the way.  

Yet in a system where goodness  
Doesn’t guarantee the top,  
To remain just and true,  
We serve humanity,  
Though we don’t reach the heights.  

Monsters envy the harmony of having enough,  
Their lives shiny, yet haunted by guilt and shame.  
The good resent their lack of ascent,  
Feeling not enough to claim the throne.  

To be honest, I don’t know
Should we climb the ladder,  
Or take it away?

Life’s just a riddle that none of us can answer
we’ve got some leads, we’ve got some clues.
Still the answer eats alive like a cancer,
and the treatment is something I’m like to refuse.

It was raining
as always in September.
They were complaining
about what; I don’t remember.
Reputation staining,
or maybe full dismember.
In need of some training
or my tempers need to be tempered.

It’s true you can never go back home,
being on your own doesn’t need to mean being alone.
You can gift the people silver, gold and chrome
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life’s just a puzzle that’s missing a piece;
you can try your hardest to fit in another,
or you can accept it and leave the picture incomplete,
and spend the rest of your time left to be frustrated and suffer.

It was a cold December,
some would say you could smell the ice.
I only seem to remember,
the nerve of those celebrating, bleedin’ Christ.
Start a fire but end up with embers
I think a spark or light would be nice.
So I go in search of vendors
but they’re charging far too high of a price.

The nightmare had a nightmare of its own
never learned to share even though it’s full grown.
You can gift people blankets and tapestries that you’ve sewn,
and they’ll still ask you how to skin a bone.

Life is like a flower
it blooms out until it drops.
Each day hour after hour,
until time’s ticking then stops.
For treasure I still scour
moving so fast my steps are hops,
and the floors filthy; needs a shower
but I think I’ve broken the brooms and mops.

It’s true you can never go back home,
the path is covered by weeds and stone,
and to each town and city you roam
there will be those who ask how to skin a bone.

आहे मन हावरट, हवं त्याला सगळं,
संसाराच्या मोहात अडकले ते आगळं.

मित्रदेखील हवेत त्याला,
मैत्रिणीदेखील हव्या,
Relation मध्ये येऊ
अशा आशा नव्या-नव्या.

मान-सन्मान हवा,
वाहवाही हवी त्याला,
पण हवंय सगळं फुकट –
मेहनत करायची कशाला?

Materialistic मोह
त्याला आवरत नाही,
आयपत नसेल तरी मोठी गाडी घेऊ –
हरकत नाही काही.

हावरटपणाच्या या विळख्यात गुरफटून मन जाते,
आयुष्याचा शेवट मात्र फक्त राख उरते.