Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.

as the birds fly south for winter
the excavators come home to roost.
they bow their heads to the ground,
wishing for wings to tuck their necks under.
everyone guards piles of salt and twisted metal
brushed cold and golden by the sun.
a boat lifts its arms to the sky,
all rattling chains and gentle, grasping claws.
gentlemen, best prices for scrap here:
all metals, all amounts.
the highway crawls home.

Such a strong branch holding up the
fruits of so many seasons but then one
winters wrath did the wind pick a fight.

Though it fought against the odds, it bent
within the breath of failing and yielded to
                       the chosen fate and befell its birth.


Falling silently in a wood of mute descents,
           where nothing was heard, but everything
knew that something was not as it was before.

Even thought strength held it at the yearning of all
below now it was stagnant. Then eyes pondered upon
its elegance. A fortitude of worth now meant for other means.


And though cleaved it was meant for a purpose,
             not one that it knew, now sewn on to
metallic wows. Sharp edges flowed like breath.

And so many times did it fall, not as before
                       this time it drank a different dew..
    teardrops flowed upon its eternal falling.

But it never grew weak, feeding on the nourishment
                                   of each diminishing stance.
Though it fell from the tree it still grew in depravity.



What was once a yearning life, growing further than
any other. It fell and became contaminated within
                                  earthly pleasures which it drank upon..    

A moment falls that severs ever moment before,
                     and what falls in moments after isn't
confused.  
                             It now has a purpose of the death it felt.

girl,
with an accent of blood
a foreign tongue
vowels that sound of metal clashing
warrior,
with fire flowing through her veins
armor for skin
feet that crush the earth beneath her
immortal,
with electricity streaks through her hair
iron filled lungs
each breath invitingly toxic
princess,
with lips of silk
a voice cut from steel
thunder and war in her bones
heroine,
with a grin made for battle
eyes speckled in ash
striding, powerful into the arms of death.

We both live in Mumbai,
He is Harish, I am Jai.
He lives on the pavement,
Next to my luxurious apartment,
He lives in a shack with metal covered with tarpaulin roof,
It has a T.V dish and WIFI
Mine is hi tech and fire proof.
He sells Samosas on streets and trains,
I am a CEO of a huge company and its top brains.
He rides a small scooter,
I move in a a posh chauffeur driven car,
We are both dressed according to our status.
But, life is ludicrous,
He is always carefree, laughing and most happy,
Whilst I am always stressed and snappy.
He sells 4000 to 5000 samosas a day,
Free, sometimes by midday,
He gets a profit of rupees one for each samosas he sells,
Mostly he gets orders to deliver on his cell.
He earns as much as I do,
Makes me seethe red and blue,
He is his own boss,
Net income, no tax, no loss,
While I slog day and night for others,
Thinking of it makes me shudder.
He is even the owner of the house I live in,
My company has rented from him,
He even owns two more houses in the neighbourhood  within,
And a garage not  far,
Where it  services  our company's cars.
Life's like that.

metal  and  mental




Metals  
were  being
kept by
drug addicted
mental.


They   were
daily  wagers
but  daily
drug  addicted
to dream  to
buy   precious
metal for
their  wives.


To  have
girlfriend  is
a  sin  and  the
job  of mental.