It’s hard for me to explain why,
but all I’m thinking about
is taking my own life.
Or maybe a slow death is what I deserve, for I’ve committed a few crimes.

Do you want to know the funny part?
My life is actually quite a blast— filled with joy and people,
filled with love and lovers,
filled with disappointments and accomplishments, mirroring each other on a performance evaluation.

But none of it matters to me—
not the success, not my degree, nor the money in my bank account.
None of it.
Nothing at all,
but all of it at once.

I want to go to sleep and never wake up again. I want to close my eyes
and finally say my farewells
in all five languages that I speak,
doomed to hear what they say behind my back,
but pretending I’m deaf so no one bothers me again.

I’m scared of the future and what’s coming, unhappy with the present, and
terrified of the past—
haunted forever, it feels like.

I love my parents,
and my dear friends,
who are the best
and the sweetest people ever.
But this is bigger than all that.

Bigger than my grades in phonetics,
where they fail us for the pleasure of doing it.
They say there are fewer and fewer places for masters,
so why not ***** you over,
and leave those empty seats to the geniuses who fit in academic boxes— just so they don’t starve to death,
and so that they can feed their future innocent children.

This is a fight between me and myself,
since I remember.
Since I was a little child—
unloved by my own peers,
misunderstood by my parents,
sexually abused by God’s messenger.
God’s messenger, huh—whose job is to make us good, not stain us with ***, and leave us wondering why, how, when, and again how,
for eternity to come.

I want to open up my wrists and bleed to death.
I want to feel the pain before I’m long gone and turned to dust—
for the pain will serve as a punishment
for my sins committed in the autarchy of this evil world we live in.

I want to end the hierarchy society has imposed on me,
on my peers, my fellow poets—on Alan Turing, who saved a couple million people and was sentenced to death for having loved a man and his *****.
Oh no, wait—he chose to swallow pills,
and maybe force himself to like women
for the sake of the natural and unnatural state of mind
Queen Elizabeth II saw fit.
Oh **.

I mean no harm to anyone—
not the people who loved me,
nor the ones who hated my guts. My guts—I sometimes hate myself.

I mean no harm to my parents,
who loved me dearly and raised me to grow into the sad lover, seeking only the love they’ve shown me.
I could talk here about Freud and his theories,
but I think that’s unnecessary,
just like his existence.

I mean no harm—
not even to my ex, who at some point
showed feelings and cared for me dearly,
before he turned into a monster, haunting me down every time I try to love another.

I mean no harm to my friends who helped me get up, over and over and over and over,
when I let other men decide my destiny and take over my decisions.

I want to be gone before Judas’ third eye appears and haunts us for having believed in Jesus and his authority over humankind.

I want to be selfish for once,
and listen to my inner child—
for I have no desire to live No more.

I want to be an angel,
fly to places and keep
an eye on you all—
protect you from Lucifer when he comes down to reach your throats.

I want to look pretty in white, angelic,
pure—
like ****** Mary, I might.

I want to dream the undreamable,

for it matters to me no more.

Tears
Tears falling
Down
Down
Staining my cheeks

Love
My love
I need you

near
near me
to hear me
say I love you

Far too much time has passed
since the colors of your eyes
have embraced mine

Too long
Since the song of your voice
has enchanted my ears

Since your arms
have warmed my
withering soul

Love
My love
when will I see you again

I need you near

near me
to hear me say
I love you

My love
when will I
hold you again

I need you near me
to heal me
to fill the lonely holes I've made

My world is silent
empty
I'm anxious

Afraid

Love
My love
when will I see you again

I need you near
near me
to hear me say
I love you

I need you near
near me
to hear you say

I love you too.

Lacerations litter your every being,
Slits decorate the spaces between your arms,
The skin around your incisions reddened in fury,
And the mess simply peeled apart at the seams.
With self-gratification as your holy grail,
You wait anxiously, for the next moment of temporary relief.
Knowing every time, you give into your desires of hatred
That you'd slice yourself up giddily, with no thought taken to spare
For the consequences that come after, the burning red scars,
And the choice, the temptation, to suffer all over again.

We've lost all our hopes and dreams
Society has clipped our fragile wings
It has taken all of our ambitions
And left us with nothing but a decision.
To give up the world, and all that is dear
to us.
To leave us somber, in our final moments.

Beneath the twilight’s tender glow,
A melody drifts where soft winds go.
Once vibrant notes, now whispers low,
Of times and dreams from long ago.

A fleeting strain, a lover’s sigh,
A waltz beneath a starry sky.
Its rhythm danced through hearts so near,
Now fades to shadows we barely hear.

The keys once struck with fervent grace,
Now linger, lost, in time’s embrace.
Yet in the stillness, faint and true,
The echoes hum their mournful cue.

Oh, song of yore, where do you lie?
In whispers soft, or the weeping sky?
Perhaps within a heart’s deep sea,
Still blooms your haunting melody.

Though time may dull and mem’ries wane,
Your tune forever will remain—
An echo laced with joy and pain,
A song that sings of love’s refrain.

बड़े होते बस यही सुना था,
‘कुछ सोच बड़ा, कुछ कर बड़ा।’
काँटों भरी इस राह पर मैं नंगे पाँव ही निकल पड़ा।
बहुत निचोड़ा इन भावों को मैंने,
इस खोज में मैंने बहुत सहा।
पर जो दिल से चाहिए, साला आखिर वो मिलता कहाँ!

एक शैतान है मुझमें, जो रोज़ कहता है,
‘छोड़ दे पैशन, कमा ले पैसे।’
‘कला के इस महासागर में डूब मरे हैं तेरे जैसे।’
मानता कहाँ दिल फिर भी मेरा?
ये तो है उसके लिए साँस की तरह!
अब चाहे डूब कर मरे या हो जाए जल कर राख,
इससे दुनिया का क्या लेना-देना?
अपनी लड़ाई भी तो यारो, आखिर खुद से ही थी ना?

कलम की नोक पर ज़िंदगी का भार
उठाते कलाईयाँ रगड़ गईं।
ग़रीबी में आटा गीला था,
आँसुओं से बात और बिगड़ ही गई।
चलो कोई नहीं, मैं भी मान गया!
गिले-शिकवों को पेपरवेट के नीचे दबा गया।
स्याही की कड़वी स्वाद को होठों से लगा गया।
मूंगफली पड़ी थी, उसे रोटी के बीच डाल कर चबा गया।

खोज रहा हूँ आज भी मैं विचारों की वो वर्णमाला,
सहारे जिसके कह सकूँ जो इतने दिन मैंने टाला।

तितर-बितर करते, इधर-उधर भागते,
थोड़ा भटक सा गया हूँ…
बंद घड़ी की सुई की तरह मानो जैसे अटक सा गया हूँ।
वक्त के आगे अपनी क़िस्मत लिखने को जूझ रहा हूँ।
अल्फ़ाज़ों से सजे इस दर्पण को
मैं आपकी ओर रख कर पूछ रहा हूँ…

‘क्या आपको पता है गौरव का फूल किस चोटी पर खिलता है?’
‘ज़िंदगी में जो चाहिए, साला आखिर वो कहाँ मिलता है?’

I got stuck
in a plot
                                        t
w
                              i                    
                                                s
                  t

and it made
me

A) Dizzy
B)  Sick
C) Light-headed
D) Aware

............(Answer)..............