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It’s like you plan to feed yourself with time
but never take any seconds. And I swear —
you could hear me second-guessing
myself over a plate full of food for thought,
just trying to feed a little of my ego. And it takes
a while to finish expressing myself — so let me take
the express train on any passing train of thought.
Cos it’s a full course — learning how to be well fed
in a world where everyone’s trying to make bread
while praying for that daily bread.

A man does all that he can for himself, before he
even says Amen! And all men are expected
to have themselves in order — but never given
the time of day to order the meal that fills their worth.
Because most of that time gets spent spending on
somebody else’s worth.

And sometimes, I wonder if it’s really worth it at all.
There’s a man who regrets giving it all to a girl
who became somebody else’s girl…that sentiment,
doesn’t only apply to him giving his all to girls.

—He gave everything to a seemingly self-fulfilled
world! And that meal is always so cold...
Crowded foresight —  
      thoughts stacked sky-high,  
     cluttered windows of a dreaming mind.  

              Out of mind,  
           out of sight…  
     yet somehow, I keep seeing  
     the better days of my life  
       skimming the edge  
        of a hopeful smile.  

                 That smile —  
          soft, unspoken —  
           given with time,  
        drawn from deep thoughts  
            folded in silence.  

                    . . .  

         Any life worth seeing —  
       any better version of me —  
    is shaped by what I’m willing  
          to put light on.  

               So I  
            paint my  
       foresight with  
   fireflies  and  sunbeams,  
     hoping the dark  
          makes room  
             for the  
            light I  
               keep.
Lalit Kumar Feb 27
Evil is a name of a foeman, as I live.
Madam, in Eden, I'm Adam.
Was it a car or a cat I saw?
A man, a plan, a canal: Panama.

Never a foot too far, even.
No, sir, away! A papaya war is on.
Step on no pets.
A Toyota's a Toyota.
Lalit Kumar Feb 27
Where does the sun go when night arrives?
It hides in dreams, painting golden skies.

Do fallen leaves miss the touch of trees?
They dance with the wind, wild and free.

Why do lovers whisper under the moon?
To keep their secrets wrapped in silver tune.

Does the ocean ever tire of the shore?
It returns each night, longing for more.

Will time erase the echoes of us?
No, love lingers in dust and dusk.

— The End —