"dislikes" poems
How would you feel if you had someone else in your head?
Another personality that could take over at any minute.
Anyone with DID can tell you that it's not easy.
DID stands for Dissociate Identity Disorder.
This is where a person has more than one personality.
It's caused by trauma that has happened in their lives.
Mostly from childhood to in their teens.
People with DID have "alters".
Alters are the other personalities that come out.
If you only have one, then it is known as Split Personality.
It's actually very interesting and there are signs for it.
Like having black outs and not remembering parts of a day.
Speech and movement become different, along with wardrobe.
And then the personality itself changes, likes and dislikes.
No person with DID is the same.
Everyone has different amounts and different lives.
The only thing that's the same is that they have it.
So if someone goes from being normal to being different.
First see if they are just trying something new.
But if the way they speak and act aren't right.
Then you need to know that something might be wrong.
So if someone says that they have Multiple Personalities.
Or just a Split Personality.
Don't run away and don't call them liars.
Because they are still people and they need their friends.
Besides, once you get to know and understand them.
Then things will seem alright.
It won't seem normal, but it'll be fine.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Sometimes being unique is a hassle
When you're in a castle
Where everyone is the same
And no one's like you
There's no one to talk to
They don't know your music
Or read poetry
You don't share the money
That drips like honey from their clothes
You don't like rap
Which is readily on tap
You're not athletic
Makes you feel pathetic
You feel so alone
Unknown
They're all such clones
Same hair
Same clothes
Same likes and dislikes
What's an outsider to do?
You end up left out
In a dark corner where nothing presides
Divides you from everyone else.
Sometimes being different is a hassle
When you live in a castle
Where being different is frowned upon.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
You're the counselor.
When certain players can't accept defeat.
You're a minister.
Teaching them about humility.
You're the coach.
A title that takes on many roles.
You're a defense attorney.
When parents gets enraged.
Thinking their child's better.
Then they really is.
You're the coach.
It takes a dedicated soul to give of themselves.
When many parents loves to criticize.
And refuse to assist.
It takes a calm manner person to accept this job.
Because many parents are releasing to you their child.
To motivate them to be better.
Not just at the game.
But, as a person with kindness.
Long after the game.
When many will forever think winning is everything.
Until , they lose to see the sportsmanship.
Is how you handle things.
You're the coach.
In the mist of many fools wearing that title.
Because some treats their players like they entitled.
You're not afraid to bench the star of the team.
Even, if many think you're being mean.
You're the coach.
Who's respect for your dignity?
If anything states about you.
That you would like.
You wants them to state you were fair.
Even amongst the dislikes.
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing
It must have the same effects as walking on the moon
It must trend faster than a meteor as it hurdles through cyber space
I refused to love any man, who dislikes my poetry,
My man must support my passion ..
not only the warmth of my body
but the passion within this poetess, my secretive mind he must be able to balance:
Without wondering why a woman like me is so naturally secretive
I am always embracing the dark side of my creativity
Dropping little hints here and there throughout the years,
Sidney J. Harris once said something that left pondering thoughts
He said “When he hears somebody sighs,
'Life is hard,' he’s always tempted to ask them, 'Compared to what?'
I would simply say dog-gone it: Compared to struggling poets whose tries to make a living as a writer
While an upcoming rapper like Chief Keef
signed a several-million dollar deal
with offending lyrics in today music industries:
I just want to write a poem no one ever thought of writing,
With lots of intense emotion bursting through each line:
Because a poem can’t exist without a poet's multiple voices
and most of all his divine missions
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
They, you and I.
Are?
Interpretations, opinions,
Fears and convictions,
Likes-dislikes,
History and anticipations,
Of life.
All, save the living of it, maybe?
A song heard months back in time
You mused over the major & minor,
I'd pondered over the rhyme.
Each of us
As convinced about its presence.
Winter tastes different in my memory.
Epilogue:
You must choose between
His bespectacled vision
And my retrospective conclusion
But you must know
Which you chose
And why.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
There are three versions of this poem. only one of them is available on the internet. This first version is from the New Yorker in a 1941 issue. It is the earliest version and the one that is quoted all over the internet.
To My Valentine
by Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oaths,
That's how you're loved by me.
The next version is the lyric of a song from the Broadway musical "One Touch of Venus" (1943) by Ogden Nash, J S Perelman and Kurt Weill. Nash wrote this lyric. It is not on the internet that I could find. I got it from the sheet music.
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.
As a sailor's sweetheart hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a wife detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than a hangnail hurts.
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a grapefruit squirts.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a bride would resent a blessed event,
That's how you are loved by me.
More than a waitress hates to wait ,
Or a lioness hates the zoo,
Or a batter dislikes those called third strikes,
That's how much I love you.
As much as a lifeguard hates to swim,
Or a writer hates to read,
As Hays office frowns on low cut gowns,
That's how much you I need.
I love you more than a hive can itch,
And more than a chilblain chills.
I yearn for you in an ivy clad igloo,
As a liver yearns for pills.
I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As a dachshund abhors revolving doors,
That's how you are loved by me.
The third is from the book "Marriage Lines: notes of a student husband" It was published in 1964 and contains a revised version of the poem with a much different ending. This too is not on the internet. I got it from the book.
TO MY VALENTINE
More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or an odalisque hates the Sultan's mates,
That's how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than commercials are a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.
As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.
I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you truer than a toper loves a brewer,
And more than a hangnail irks.
I love you more than a bronco bucks,
Or a Yale man cheers the Blue.
Ask not what is this thing called love;
It's what I'm in with you.
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
The intimacy of being known
The intimacy of doing something without being asked
The intimacy of doing literally anything with that person
Only because it's that person.
The intimacy of waking up next to that person
The intimacy of being woken up by that person
The intimacy of remembering what someone likes
The intimacy of remembering what someone dislikes
The intimacy of not needing to remember just doing it
The intimacy of reciprocating the energy of that person
The intimacy of being that energy
The intimacy of feeling human with someone
The intimacy of making someone else feel human
The intimacy of doing something only for that person without them knowing it was you
The intimacy of having something done for you without your knowledge of who, when, and how
The intimacy of appreciating someone's existence
The intimacy of your existence being appreciated
The intimacy of being in their presence
The intimacy in knowing if one were to explain how they felt they'd only being annoying and everything they said would be pointlessly wasted and feel meaningless to the reciprocant
The intimacy in having no ability to stand up for oneself against someone
The intimacy of being able to work through PTSD for someone
The intimacy of being able to ignore instinct for someone
The intimacy in learning oneself with someone
The love we don't see, is the most important to me
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 6:05 PM UTC
It's in the way he smiled at me when we first met
Nothing special about his smile but the chipped tooth
The way those eyes tell a million stories and yet are so kind
He listens
I’ve never had that before
And calls me out on my ********
Because he knows I like to lie
He doesn't put people down for things they enjoy
I’ve never had that before
He respects my passion and lifts me
He treats me like I want to be treated
Because i'm sick of being treated like an ignorant little girl
He's nice to everyone and
I’ve never had that before
Even if he dislikes them he's compassionate and kind
And sees good within the worst
And although his hairs to long
And although his brothers a *****
And although I still feel judged by him sometimes
I’ve never had someone like him before
Safety
Love
Warmth
I’m not afraid to call him whenever
And I was already friends with his friends
He notices things, even before, that no one else does
And is genuinely happy for me
And i've never had that before
Never had the kindness
Never had the unconditional
Never had the best friend
But I guess thats because i've never had him before.
Apr 16, 2021
Apr 16, 2021 at 9:25 AM UTC
If God is the book then life would be the pages in him,
for us to study and turn to each new page of her.
There is so much paper here, but no place to start a fire.
A fire of words and dreams to chase.
Will you run with me, with feet wide awake?
Please do, and I won't be scared to bleed for you
when the time comes.
These words I have don't dream lifeless
or die in corral conversation or in a helpless blind study.
I will help you see it is in fact that God's home is make-believe
with no welcome mat to greet you. Maybe God never
learned to let bygones just be gone.
Maybe this is why you have never seen the glorious
Matriarch or heard her voice, but I bet it sounds
a lot like the space between a gunshot and a black
male's body hit by the bullet right before the screams.
Did you know this is what black feels like?
These pages feel like an eighth-grade suicide poem
written because it is solely triggered by life, and
since life is so freaking triggering and our only
real competition, then I will write words that are
weapons. I will write real-life pages of myself,
that is more jazz than blues, more biggie than Pac
more Prince than Michael. I will write myself out
this padded room call earth, because after all heroes
can dream too, and our thirst can become hunger and quickly
I learned to eat my own words and breathe in endless
possibility in a world where breathing is no longer a privilege
Just a means to be necessary.
Jesus! I got a life with no religion and still, I manage to turn
doubt into rhinestones right along with these pages
of myself. I will turn page after page as if I were Jesus turning the other cheek, and like Jesus, I can take all my
dislikes and burdens and turn the into sunsets. I will teach
my pain to laugh. Ignorance is not bliss, it is kind. It teaches
us to look deep inside of ourselves to see the word of God,
and I have seen it, I have seen I am half human and half star
and my DNA is all angelic. God wrote his first poem in blood right here on Earth. Her pen never felt writer's block. He never suffered inside the ink. Do you know the difference between God and everyone else? She never starts emotional fires to burn pages of himself and herself as we do.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
Take me back to a different hotel every night and living out of a suitcase. Getting comfortable in our naked bodies around each other; comparing breast size and stretch marks—examining ourselves like the men who’ve carelessly fondled us before for our likes and dislikes. Sharing a bottle of lukewarm tequila in the world’s smallest bathtub and then I sing you to sleep. Highway cars buzzing past and there’s only one road to get lost on, but we manage it every single time. Your car becomes a dressing room at gas stations where people stare with disapproving glares and worry for the safety of their wallets; because we don’t belong here but we laugh—still drunk from the early morning hours and just trying to find the next check-in spot for the night. There never is a real destination but home always seems too close and we both hate that part. It doesn’t feel right when it ends or when I have to crawl back into my own bed without a time frame to be out by in the morning—before the housekeeping maid comes banging on our door,
yet again.
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 1:06 AM UTC
From afar I admire you
your beauty and your grace
the way you push hair behidn your ear that has fallen to your face
your brillance..you're o so intelligent
the way you speak in class
so bold and without fear
the sparkle for learning in your eyes
that look so pure and clear
All of these things, only perceived by me from afar
I wish to know yout thoughts
likes, dislikes, and hobbies
your opinion on politics
Do you about the trees?
What is your faith?
Do you have pets?
Your favorite book, movie, food.
What is it that you are passionate about?
My dear Brazil
I want to talk to you
To obtain all the answer to every question I wish to ask you
This morning in the rain you were only a few feet away
all alone were you
But my feet, they would not move
So I did not go to you
Instead I watched my Beautiful Brazil place her earphones in her ear
We could have talked and laughed
But we didn't cause I am ruled by fear
Alas, My Beautiful Brazil
I am not your average admirer
No, not at all
But until I gather up the courage
The strength to loose my fear
I'll admire you from afar
My Beautiful Brazil
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 12:45 PM UTC
Shadow of life
Always has your back.
Loves your reflection of character in the sun.
It accepts your flaws and splendors.
It wishes it can remember your actions.
It can't cause it has no brain.
Only you can remember what you've done.
It's underneath your control
It feels lonely without some light in your life.
It knows a new day will be around.
It's seen in every direction like a Queen.
It's on a chessboard wondering where you want to go.
It wishes it can touch you.
It wishes it can make you king.
It wishes it can help you with your ambitions
It can't cause it knows it takes time.
It understands confidence.
I loves to walk with you.
It loves to run with you.
It follows you when your in love.
It wishes it can wipe your tears
It can't, but it acknowledges your pain.
It loves to be hugged.
It loves when you hug your soulmate.
It questions if he, or she is the right one.
It loves when you drink coffee.
It wants to feel energized and alive.
It watches when you drink alcohol.
It dislikes you when you pass out.
It loves when you stay hydrated.
It knows, i't wont help it's shadowy skin.
It wishes it can take care of you when you're sick.
It can't but it knows you are the doctor at heart.
It knows when you become young and old.
It knows, it will vanish when you're dead.
It wishes to see you in heaven someday.
It wishes it can hug you when your in solitude.
It can't comfort you, but knows you need someone.
It Comprehends your exertion.
It wishes it can move again, cause it's your friend.
It wishes it can talk, and meet your new friends and shadows.
It can't but it's comfortable with who you have in your life.
It wishes you can give it a name.
It knows you can keep the same same, or change it.
It misses you when you are sleeping.
It wishes it can get rid of the monster under the bed.
It can't get rid of the monster, but it knows you grow.
It wishes it can fight for you.
It can't fight your battles, but it will cheer for you.
It wishes it can take care of you.
When you can't take care of yourself.
It doesn't want you to be afraid.
Cause then you are afraid of yourself.
It loves you for who you are, so don't run.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 6:07 PM UTC
The one who is seen by you or the one who lives inside me?
Am I fake outside or inside?
How I seem to be is not who I am inside.
But then I pretend to be whom you desire.
I struggle or may be just pretend to be a perfect daughter, a perfect sister, a perfect wife, a perfect daughter in law, a perfect mother,
overall a woman that is considered to be a perfect woman by the society.
I don't want to wear Kurta Surwal,
I don't want to drape a shawl,
I don't want to wear a pote, neither I want to wear a Tika or chura.
But then I wear them all when I come in front of you.
You say it's a tradition, it's a culture and related to husband's lifespan
I don't believe these nonsense but I never let you know my dislikes rather I choose to pretend..........................
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows.
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
What did I know about drowning or being drowned?
Sorrow is my own yard,
And in short, I was afraid.
My life will shut very beautifully, suddenly
When everything broken is broken, and everything dead is dead, and the hero has looked into the mirror with complete contempt and the heroine has studied her face and it’s defects
Who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks,
Who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessively,
Who jumped off the Brooklyn bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten.
I used to pray to recover you
Who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard, wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts
Who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation.
Your most frail gesture are things which enclose me.
At twenty I tried to die.
This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.
Watching the others go about their days, likes and dislikes, reasons, habits, fears that self-love is the one weedy stalk of every human blossoming.
How do they do it, the ones who make love without love
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
First, let me introduce myself.
Secondly, let me get to know your likes and dislikes.
Third, let me get to know you more.
As, we journey toward three steps to love.
Yes, we heard first impression means everything.
Except, sometimes nervousness gets in the way.
So, we might make mistakes.
On our three steps to love journey.
And if it's on my part.
Please, keep an open mind about my heart.
I'm simply trying to offer you my love.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
in the darkness darkness calls
. . . i am losing him
with the raining rain falls
. . . i am losing him
in the light lightning strikes
. . . i am losing him
can you love Love’s dislikes
. . . i am losing him
at the end ending starts
. . . i am losing him
can One remake unmaking hearts?
. . . i am losing him
ashes to ashes dust to dust
. . . i am losing him
turn the metal back to rust
. . . i am losing him
finger pointing points the blame
. . . i am losing him
appointing disappointment all the same
. . . i am losing him
pray the prayer children pray
. . . i am losing him
“Closed eyes keep monsters away.”
. . . i am losing him
‘Adults’ no better but better be
. . . i am losing him
or embrace the brace of tragedy
http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/im-losing-him-sandy-hook-school-killer-adam-lanzas-mother-nancy/story-e6frf7jo-1226539695762
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
Movie ticket,
cinema stub,
two halves torn apart
by the fickle fingers of the screen attendant:
he looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a handbook compiled by the words of some corporate type,
who dislikes his job, you can tell from his vibe.
“The receipt's in the bag”,
I requested it to be in my hand,
customer service fingers are always painted a day-glow green,
hideous talons of the fake queen,
traced from the princesses of the TV-silver-shitty-fake-TV screen:
she looked up at me with a smile-
one learnt from a magazine of ink,
nothing more than lies disguised within the wholesome typography imprint.
Carrying nothing but a wallet,
“would you like a bag sir?”
I am carrying nothing but a wallet, of course I would like a bag,
what do you take me for:
she looked up at me with a smile-
Wait.
Her intriguing trapdoor smile concealed
perfectly straight teeth that,
through the gap in her mouth,
spat out the shop floor script,
as if a Shakespearean soliloquy
equipped for the stage,
not this retail trade.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Hello Stranger,
Done with the Roka,
It's a pre-engagement ceremony,
But right now,
I don't know what I am for you.
Next will be our engagement,
Then I'll be your fiancé,
And you'll be my fiancée,
But right now,
I don’t know what you are for me.
After that we'll have our marriage,
Then you'll be my Dharmik wife,
And I'll be your Sworn husband,
But right now,
We're strangers for each other.
Let's make it easy,
Let's share with each other
Our likes, and the dislikes too,
Let's be friends until we wait,
Let's get to know each other.
You know about my weaknesses,
It's apparent and obvious,
But behold, I descend into your life,
I have my shortcomings,
But I have my gifts too.
You'll see me spreading joy in your world,
And you'll realise that your world is mine too,
But don't worry,
Just let my love grow in your heart,
Next I'll plant a ring in your finger.
That ring will mark you as mine,
You'll put a ring around my finger too,
And this particular ring will mark me as yours,
We'll be each other's fiancée & fiancé,
I'll make sure that you are fine.
A few weeks after that engagement,
We'll sit in front of the Holy Fire,
And that fire will be our witness,
And so will be the Àgnì Ðévà,
The God of Fire will seal our togetherment.
Right now you're cautious,
Maybe a bit scared too,
You are in the dark,
But so am I, dear,
Don't worry, I won't disappoint you.
And I know that me you won't dishearten,
We'll gel well beyond the physical realm,
The world will soon see us as one unit,
We'll enjoy each day in togetherness,
And it will no longer be an untitled relationship.
Apr 1, 2024
Apr 1, 2024 at 3:33 AM UTC
It is strange, her feelings towards me,
One moment she is full of love ,
The next fills me with fear,
Creates a feeling of being trapped in my own home,
Never completely sure in which direction her feelings are going
She loves me because I am her daughter,
Dislikes me because I am me.
The expressions of love,
The shouts of anger,
Her feelings towards me, they are strange.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
I rarely get on Facebook anymore. But when I do, I'll change my profile picture or banner-- maybe post a witty status update, maybe not witty, just something to let people know I'm alive.
It's like repositioning the arms on a stationary mannequin to depict a different scene. Except lately I just don't care anymore. It's just that-- a mannequin. An object, an image, a lifeless entity with which I used to feel real-- a dusty mirror.
I see that the line between the idea of a person and the reality is being blurred and crossing over into something all-together different. It's as if people are starting to wake up and realize the objectivity of their reality. But that brings into question the basis for which we define reality.
We have become a, “Look but don't touch” society in which we click a button to show our appreciation as opposed to genuinely reciprocating human emotion and energy. It is extremely isolating and dangerous.
Packed subways and sidewalks have fallen eerily silent with faces illuminated by their cellphones. Most everyone wants to be heard, appreciated and recognized and social media has provided an outlet for that.
But there comes a point at which your platform becomes your prison and your voice your warden-- and everything you say is modified to be pleasing to the ear and 'likeable'.
But I like dislikes. And if you're not ******* anyone off-- you're probably not doing anything important, and if you're not outraged you're not paying attention.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
If this vast azure emptiness can prove
An aghast endless vacuum measure
Take it for granted, research process sure
It will fuel your thought resources, true.
Mining specks and dots in deep space treasures
Boundless designs shine assigning pleasures
Unfurl within mind in gaseous beams
Overflowing the banks of conscious streams
Filling the utmost sanctum with soft skills
Milling vacuum with colorful quills
Calming the pulses with embracing lulls
Warming all lives with fundamental pulls
Creating a sense of duo, I and you
Love and dislikes and points of view.
Feeling satiety in charity
Finding synergy in activity.
Minting amity in society
keeps you young aged muddling in daring dreams
Deeply engage you cuddling realms supreme.
So what? if this vast thought mine be blanked out
Will the ghost mute vacuum follow suit?
If sense aides guide a slow downward exit
And mind bids the fairy lids to close it
Will the sun bewail, bemoan and eclipse?
Or will the same smile prevail on red-lips?
If souls sunset in seamless sea of mind
Will lights spill out; team up to stay behind?
To form anew a fresh long microwave
To indent a start with a soul suave
A new spectrum to perceive the forces
For the soul that constantly resources
That differently formats transceiver courses
The energy that cannot be destroyed
But that which can be candidly portrayed
On a vast emptiness fluidly stolid
On a continuum vividly solid
On a clean canvas without dimensions
In a brave new world that cannot mention
A name which is beyond comprehension
A frame that doesn't fall on known convention.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
She's told over and over
it's her fault
her talk, her reaction
her action, her likes
dislikes, emotion
she's told it's her fault
she thinks it's her fault
it's who she is
it's her fault
she's told it's an overreaction
she's told it's not her fault
she's told it's out of her hands
it can't be her fault
she is so nice, and wonderful
and fun to be around,
she starts to think
it wasn't her fault
that life is different
she believes that
she is not at fault
that she couldn't stop it
but that it isn't her fault
but then it starts
to come right back
the same comments
start to be repeated
not to the extreme
yet
but it ends up, after all
it is her fault
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
A sudden flash,
lightning's cuneiform write,
on the plack of pitch dark sky;
like a truth derived from lives
*
Sudden insights,
in human nature strike unawares,
if you look around,
some times even casual look reveals.
*
Likes and dislikes drive human lives,
and civilizations thrives or bite dust,
on their merit,
they are like leaves sprouting on a plant
an act, result of the land it stands and nutrients
it receives,
what complex laws work behind it!
how would you capture the essence of this?
--meaning is elusive even if you peel
the onion, for long,
human nature defies all descernable patterns.
*
Pharova Khufu of Egypt,
wallowing in riches, all his life
(in the stories of past)
was in love with
his two boats, more than any other thing,
(one made of acecea and other from cider)
king, aimed his longing's sharp point
at this two wooden objects,
(a guy who had no problem in focusing
bless him, he deserves credit for that one decisiveness)
*
And when he died,
they thought these boats were the things
he would miss more than his wives,
what else could be possible?
they carefully laid to rest with him, these two beloveds-
Khufu with two lovely boats; his love objects,
his wish was honored
*
**Imagine a man of immense wealth
which eventually reduced to some wood,
the size of two boats,
(the symbol of futility
human life represents,)
trveling the great beyond,
with his legs, one each
on a boat.**
*
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
What is boredom but subjectivity,
Always viral conductivity
From one and two and here and there
A way of ratifying one's personal cares.
Likes, dislikes, attractions, distractions,
Formulative thoughts and rash reactions,
Bombardment of character and theatrical woes,
And no one can say from where it comes or goes.
A view from behind the pill of bitter estrangement,
Lenses and visions of complicated derangements,
Better or worse, one subjects his collusions
With the darker abstracts of critical confusion.
So what is boredom but a lack of reason,
A hiding place behind a suspension of disbelief,
What is boredom but a condition of pondering the lack of what's to ponder,
Construction of illness rather than intellectual relief?
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC