#contracts
I was told the sky was blue,
but what if it was not blue?
What if your concept of blue
and my concept of blue
are two different blues?
So I’m seeing green
and you’re seeing purple,
but we both call it the same thing,
as we are told to do.
My fun cannot be fun
because society did not make it that way.
Your life cannot be lived the way you want
because you’ve not earned that right.
Your love cannot be the way you love
because it is not the way we agreed upon.
We are always told what to say,
what to do,
but by who?
It’s a contract we sign when we learn.
It’s a contract we sign when we go out in the world.
It’s a contract on how to behave accordingly.
You must do it that way.
Say it this way.
Act that way.
Please sign here.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 11:29 AM UTC
This...
The shaking of a reed
The movement of the water
The flicking of a flame.
This...
The crying of a child
The weariness of the labourer
The burning skin from the sun.
This...
The racking pain of guilt
The salty tears of loneliness
The swan song of past glories.
This...
The masks of complacency
The contracts of acceptance
The closing of the mind.
This...
The continuing saga
The words that fill the pages
The lot in life we all share.
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 8:57 AM UTC
This is a tale of the lives
of fools who are wise
a balancing act of love
hate truth and lies.
A carnival-style society
pull up stakes no time
to commit and contracts
full of loopholes so
there's always a way
out of it.
Nothing's for certain
too many choices keep
our heads raised high
to see in a consumer's
world that the grass is
greener on every side.
A lifelong love doesn't
seem to be a part of
this game of quantity
not quality but in spite
of it all I still hear love
calling out my name.
First I hear you laughing
then I hear you cry
the promise of forever
then the promise of
goodbye.
Jun 3, 2025
Jun 3, 2025 at 9:04 AM UTC
This...
The shaking of a reed
The movement of the water
The flickering of a flame.
This...
The crying of a child
The weariness of the labourer
The burning skin from the sun.
This...
The salty tears of guilt
The racking pain of loneliness
The swan song of past glories.
This...
The masks of complacency
The contracts of acceptance
The closing of the mind.
This...
The continuing saga
The words that fill the pages
The lot in life we all share.
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 8:59 AM UTC
Laws are straight and right,
something crooked that is bent --
That is what trade is.
Mar 12, 2025
Mar 12, 2025 at 5:10 AM UTC
In 2020 we are the motors of the mechanics we drive
in the bed
of other work days
as the bees fly less
and
the drive of somersaulting mad men, calmer
than a pool of iced days off
after the pool boy
cleans up
start screaming,
although it’s universal when you rise, and my limbs burst
through these elsewhere tossed things, and elsewhere bones
that have no succor in the middle of the sun’s dance, as if:
naïve butchers in the street are sleeping on the bus and
there is no answer from the ricochet dream apart from
keep your **** together
keep your **** together…
and the world is well travelled when you’re smoking beside a dog
and the obliterated silence of a room has a voice,
but the turnstiles open when the poem begins, ah!
the weekend again-this, envelope of random orchids that rustle
and
open,
in the haven of a ***** flat where we find the best corona jokes
new cities
these shaking palms
the way the world works better at 10 am
and the humour of a crazy snake, checking KPIs
again,
and when i wake
i will love this zero
hour
contract
more,
i will worship you and say
yes
yes
YES!
Mar 6, 2020
Mar 6, 2020 at 11:47 PM UTC
Sleeping is a contract
I keep signing
Waking is a contract
I keep breaking
I just want what
Kumbhakarna had
nidravatvam
six months isn't much
so I can sleep this
sickness away.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
Let’s face the facts.
No matter who you want to be, you cant.
Only because this society has their thoughts set in concrete contracts.
So if you love the wrong gender, wear the wrong clothes…
Society will eat you alive like a colony of fire ants.
I couldn't take it. So I arose.
I arose from the deep dark waters they infested and became bigger.
So big that their insults were now the size of bacteria.
It was almost as easy as pointing a gun and pulling the trigger.
But I couldn't.
This vicious cycle cannot continue.
No more fighting, no more violence!
We have to stand up for each other and rid the silence.
The silence that kept us still, wooden
The silence that brung our fears to life and made us small once more.
We are all equal so why can’t we act like it?
We could have just broken the silence with a loud and brave roar!
We could all form a puzzle, a puzzle where we all fit.
A community where everyone is kind.
But that won’t ever happen…
Everyone that holds the title “popular” is blind.
Yet somehow they rise above us.
They are always the biggest species.
I still believe in my dream.
The shine in someone's eyes the hope they bring.
All it takes is a little gleam…
To break the facts to tear right through the seems!
No longer shall these “facts” remain.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
What will I gain
If I lose my soul and own the world,
you ask?
Power. Glory. Contentment.
(My life would be chaotic, but fulfilling)
For what is the use of a soul,
if I am breathing and yet not living?
So you yell me about the purpose of souls:
next lives—rebirth and reincarnation.
But I tell you this:
“This world is a cesspool,
and one life is enough for me.
So long as I lived it
in sybaritic ecstasy.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC