"inefficiency" poems
some people have given up,they see Nigeria as hopeless,They feel it can not get better.they come with history records,recent happenings and even present situations.People are frustrated and tired so out of the frustration comes so much cursing and bitter words.
Believe me when I say I know the feeling of disappointment,the hurt that one feels when hopes are raised only to be dashed.But when I withdraw from the so much noise and look a little deeper.I see good...so much good in Nigeria.I am being really honest now.I know someone can see this good but if you can not, I wish I could borrow you my eyes, just so you see what I see and of course return my precious eyes back.
Right from the time of Adam and to this very day,We humans tend to feel comfortable pushing blames.We refuse owning up to our wrongs or inefficiency.
While complaining of a cut in your leg there is someone with no legs,he would gladly take your legs with the cut , Be thankful and treat the cut.When the complain is not healing the cut,why don't you use the time to find some first aid.
Why curse when you can bless
why speak death when you Can speak Life
why worry when you can pray
We can change our thinking
We can look inwards at what we can do
We can individually make a positive difference
I'm not saying become voiceless,I'm saying let your voice carry positive value and be backed up with positive actions.
Can anything good come from Nigeria?
Yes!I'm a good example
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
Lost traction,
in a disillusioned faction.
Thought prosperity could keep all afloat.
Instead it's left me to gloat.
About a lifestyle of inefficiency,
in an attempt to gain a touch of currency.
What a poor excuse,
for something so abstruse.
But it is a tampered explanation,
after large amounts of manipulation.
About the best thing I'm left to offer,
seeing as I'm a poor impostor.
But then again isn't everyone.
Seeing as we've all been outrun.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
I aim to please
But I feel I won't succeed
I want to win this war
Deep within my core
This is my fear
at unease
As I try to please
This is what I want you to hear
I tell myself not to surrender
I feel like this is pure failure
Inefficiency in this adventure
I don't write this just for the trend
I write this only to pretend
That with these words I shall be on the mend
I feel so overwhelmingly selfish ungrateful
and these actions against myself so shameful
As I pull and I tug at these sleeves know that I am not harmed
So please, please don't be alarmed
For I am selfish and ungrateful
and just your average stereotypical
Self couscous girl
girl that is ever so cynical
Who writes
to
hide her world
I will deny
That its all one big lie
and no one, no one will ever know
So take this shovel and bury this deep, deep down below
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
My bones are outside my body
Replaced instead by a collection of wires
Electricity coursing alongside my nerves
A sloppy circuit
My limbs jolting just out of rhythm
I am wired
My heart must be beating fast
A peculiar conundrum as I can not feel the movement
within my chest
I am wired
A mile a minute, a minute a mile
My brain moves
Thoughts nearly incoherent
but still hanging on to that last strand of sense
I am wired
Shock.Beat. Thought.
Terror of stillness
of possible inefficiency
My bones gone
I will have no indication of being
I won't last
I am wired
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
It's late at night when you realize she's not the one you loved,
or anyone for that matter.
It's late at night when your mind,
a towering serpent of indecision and malnourishment,
a rushing stream of water from the broken end of a fire hydrant,
tearing through steel and ice cubes that litter a middle age class of numeral reunion,
discover the over-keyed lock where metal bends and screams.
Covered in flies and rice,
it retains its bondages, exchanging freedom for self-loathing,
Dirty-dying in single file,
a honey-gilded tune not thrice too soon.
I seek the corridor where my true love will wait for me,
breathing me in, yet the cane of a blindman.
A clopping corridor, sleek and cobblestone,
artificial and vast, astral.
My true embrace will be that cold one of death, knocking at my door,
pleading my friendship,
sapping from me ***** and calloused hands.
A wet kiss on the nose, a reddened tongue.
I don't know the latitude of my existence.
I can't feel the reality of my throat,
of the gushing and the breathing of winds,
blocking the eternal stream of air.
The currents broke, and from within blew a heavenly melody,
that pierced cold ears boundlessly.
Again, that same street.
Lit faintly from above and from the participants in its ritual.
They burn the wax together.
And they sink,
O paradox!
Together, with their victories of mental triumph,
they recede further into torment and inefficiency,
quantified and numerical,
arrange themselves by merit and consequence.
Again, they sink and plummet and fall,
deeper into wonder and beauty.
Until it abandons them and spills over the edges,
splattering the circumscription,
dabbing alligator skin and sunglasses.
Inspecting the damage done,
he lifts from within its belly a tattered and worn skull,
that of a Man, no less.
Rusting in the desert, alone and among his gods,
bone-dry plains and dunes of dust,
rumbling agelessly the shaken scared earth.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
The send and receive signal is blinking,
And the single mind is syncing to the altered pose of the twinkling stars above,
Via the screen and LED beams that stream into the seams of your consciousness.
Your brain is blessed,
Yet lacks the zest of wisdom once residing in your soul;
Outdated like coal, the role of the toll booth is old and invalid,
Like the side-dish of salad,
Replaced by the rancid infection of fast food,
What a bad mood society must be in.
You may die of respiratory inefficiency,
But you've got me to inform your next of kin.
You're not as blind as I would like you to be,
Yet you don't see as clearly as is necessary,
So I'm wary of your willful ignorance, as it's frightening and malignant,
Yet the signals sent don't pay my rent so I vent by waiting on Clark Kent to save the day,
He's on his way, right, Sir Gawain? Right, brave knight? Sir knight? Am I right?
Irrelevant,
So, for the hell of it,
I descend into a hedonistic viewpoint stuck in a pit,
Of what I call economically unsound wit;
Perhaps a writ of notice regarding my upcoming eviction,
They punish those who find pleasure in a lack of plight,
and claim their sanity is out of sight;
Well, **** you too,
I'll stage a coup so you can be you, through and through.
Please, freedom;
I need you to unlock the cages at this human zoo,
Because the free of us are too few,
And the few of us are who?
Speak up.
For the love not of God, but of life, speak up.
May 16, 2011
May 16, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
Behind the traffic of thought
the type that creates
tracks along desire lines
tires screech in frustration
that got me
nowhere close to discovery
i began realize there is a presence
within the whisper
of the windshield wipers
buzzing in inefficiency-
reminding me
that it doesn't matter if i'm
stuck behind a line of slow cars
honking in patterns of unrest
the rain will always wipe away
to reveal a bit of clarity
in my direction
and though it is only feet- inches?
there is movement.
and every time we're on the road
together
there is company.
and as long there isn't any red
or blue lights flashing nearby,
we can try to smile and enjoy the ride.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
The greyness will not go
From my mind, from the world
A dome of haze surrounds this troubled town
Dense, thick, ****** into the ground and out to the sky
From my soul, from the world
I'm not so far from sitting with the wild eyed vagrant
Watching all hope walk away
From my heart, from the world
A cruel twist of fate this is- when it began
Troubles came from a solution
From my pocket, from the world
Thanks to inefficiency, from the privileged
I have no food coming
From my hand, from the world
Dreams of warmth and meagre luxuries
Seem so distant, so impossible
From my head, from the world
If I can't survive this month on air
I shall go from my home
To the street, to the world.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
“I saw the lovely smile on your face
A memory I always embrace
Silently through the bars of that door
I would watch you all so more
Dreaming to be a part of your life
Propose with a rose, make you my wife
And I think how I would?
Though not on the knee, on a wheelchair I could.
I can love you more than anybody
If at all you can see
Beyond my physical inefficiency
If my soul you fancy
Instead of my broken vessel
I will win over all hassle
Only for your love my love
Only if you are with me my dove
How do I tell the fears my flaws bring?
My inabilities from summer to spring
But not a burden on your being
I will love you as my queen
For once come fall in love with my soul”
She heard what he uttered as a whole
Kissed him on his lips
“I love you no matter the broken ship”
Smiled and later married the two
Love stories are many, rare a few.
© Dr. Prerna Singla, 27 MAY, 2015
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
The inefficiency, an inferiority complex born
In reluctance to have such hideous skin worn
Every centimeter here, rough to the touch
And hands far worked that feel too much
Thighs of quakes thick, calves of thunder strong
When the proportions are just all so wrong
These collar bones aren't quite prominent enough
With cheeks too pallid of which easily blush
Shoulders broad, freckled and shyly too wide
The lack of a smile on the right and left sides
Scarred ****** features and a grimacing grin
Between the imagination and I, I never win
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
Once more return to the place of hate, hot with the warmth of the womb still after decades, receding like always into the presumed delirium held in that head of yours--but it's both the head and the heart that have ever boiled blood and pried tears and forced seclusion and withdrawal, and continue. Continue through the threshold keeping hidden decay at bay from the world of the waking, unnatural wooden floors keeping hidden the past inefficiency of care in your wrinkled hands, failing to the strength of the stench filling each passage and room in mist. I'm feeling now the way I felt for every instance within the walls. Towering over me when I close my eyes is the memory of the life I somehow saved and though living thoroughly broken beyond conventional means of disrepair, the despair now pales to the nightmare pressed angrily into the backsides of these eyelids. Days like print turned burning script against the black hole that might otherwise be home and sanctuary and ward to the intricate and frightful realities of the outer world, days that wind away and then back in dead drop and ascent that has not yet failed repetition, because of an inability to nurture nature that stemmed more from apathy and disinterest than any real shortcoming. Each time the world begins to end with the potential crashing sound of bone and flesh driving through the depths of the vacuum to pass through solid asphalt and concrete, I wake and the world flips. The trip to your bedroom sheds light on all the others, where once slept two souls aimless and needy, now sleeps decay that you began breeding from the spores formed in their lungs. Cats eyes like lightning slice through the mind as I wander your dark halls to the end where I myself fail at opening the door. I can't breathe. I can't look. I leave. There are things worse than the fragments of mind I clutch desperately as blankets under the Winter sky. What waits looks bad but I'll go if it's smiling or screaming. You. You can die in your numbered hole.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
Our brave new world has turned remarkably cold
There is no place for inefficiency among the looming towers
Religions have been replaced with the worship of screens
Charms have been supplanted by tungsten and lithium
One by one, metropolises fell to “necessary” modernization
I consider a certain member of these abaddons as my unfortunate home
The city’s structures stand like monoliths, without luster or familiar name
A place surely dredged from the deepest hell of mankind’s achievements
Mechanical arachnids skitter across streets on continuous patrol
their silver claws and whirring sensors passively click and scan
We’ve no longer needed any member of sentient life to protect us
Apparently, that was a task more suited for our heartless creations
Any soul residing in the world has become artificial
emotions, dreams, and identities discarded and digitized
Former humans are now composed of more metal than meat
They tread with measured steps and a uniform lack of expression
I breathe the heavy clots of air through my visor and flip a few pages
Long ago, this ancient relic came to my unsuspecting attention
It held secrets of organisms that ran rampantly among landscapes
Old Terra’s fertility sprang out from yellowed paper
There is one creature that I found especially endearing
It endured the harshest of the world's conditions, as I do in mine
It was the deadliest of its kind, as I am among peers
I bestowed my home with the creature’s striking moniker
Now and forever, I live in the city of Taipan
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
you continue on the outermost experience of stimuli
consuming with poor digestion, your surrounding world
you continue on the premise of emotion and nothing more,
no analysis, no insight, you exist as a simpler species than
those who do analyze, are insightful and it is only negative because
you are inefficient and infectious in your inefficiency, less energy is
required to live as you do but you are not progressive, you do not offer
this human species anything but a vector for dna, an avenue to perpetuate;
and you are this way by choice -- you possess potential to have potential
but you do not engage and in consequence, you are ignorant and malignant
to our human species and perhaps I am a misanthrope or perhaps I am a
realist but you will only hinder the most capable of us unless you cease to
continue on the outermost experience of stimuli; you are inefficient with the
potential, a resounding potential, for efficiency and if only you would wake from
this superficial condition our species would gain advantage in survival but I
suppose it is irrational to wish for such things, as we are inherently flawed and
perhaps our concentrations should not be on perpetuating the human species
but rather giving rise to an organism more evolutionarily advanced -- more efficient;
more perfect.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
Arcs of electricity
crackle above streets.
Fields of inefficiency;
noise of power lines
taser misery.
All I crave is silence.
All I crave is silence.
But please don't silence me.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
You see them
—ravishing in their chosen craft and marvelous before your sight
Resplendent creatures born from the union of fabricated thoughts and witty artistry
Tantalizing celestials that grow larger,
making you feel like you're engulfed in their searing arms—
branding you with marks of inefficiency
You look down
—unsure of your own atrocious behavior and crude mimicry
Revolting are you, you believe with utmost conviction and undying self-loathing
A carnal wanton of jealousy,
insisting that you will never share the same grandeur as them—
and you miniscule yourself
You stand center stage,
—on a platform where an audience could only ridicule you from below
Unnerving is their unmerciful criticisms to your lithe skill of transformation
******* savages are they,
when oceans of daggers spill forth from their mouths—
prepared to plunge into shame
but this feeling you have in your chest,
that distinguished bass filled tune
is unmistakably and undeniably,
Unrehearsed.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
I am lonely, as I so often seem to be
My mind flips over and under endlessly.
I think myself to heights then fling my body down
I scream and complain without my mouth making a sound.
Pridefully -endlessly prideful, as I am- I keep to myself
Because loneliness will never drive me to beg for another's help.
I'd rather stare outwards infinitely, fingers perched and ready to type
And wonder what part of the internet used to bring entertainment to life.
Self-sufficient in the way I always claimed to be, I whisper lonely into my hands
Then run for the door like it's a bug I must release, watching nervously at where it lands.
I dance with myself, giggle and smile, then peel of my face to observe
Because it isn't allowed to show what I can only disclose within written words.
An army of people who will never exist muddle through life inside my head
We speak and we smile and I am pitiful enough that it makes the emptiness less.
And less is livable, less is doable with stiff posture, a smile, and laughs
Less is easier, more simple, more viable to tote away than Too Much's trash.
If I straighten my back, smile with teeth, and laugh boisterously
If I open my arms and wait for company, who will I meet?
If I looked at every person as a new opportunity and not a danger to me
I wonder if I'd make enough friends to calm this feeling for a century?
Questions contain a vulnerability that has never once failed to disgust me.
Yet and still, I write them down because questions are the door to possibility.
And somehow, whether answered or unanswered these questions may be
I will walk away from the result into a crowd of people I will not greet.
I will be lonely.
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC
**Most if not all forms of government have hot on their heels
A litany of “life-snapping” ideals
No wonder most of them flounder in self-created
Thickets of inefficiency and are easily “distracted”.**
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 5:36 AM UTC
it's quite akin to anxiety
the product of crude society
bastardized, perverted piety
leaves you useless, sitting quietly
Be judged for inefficiency
contradicting proficiency
pesters the mind malignantly
wasting time, effortlessly
The emptiness, magnanimous
to further destruction and not less
travels fast, as if poisonous
rules the mind with an iron fist
just goes to show that motive
must be forever be promoted
if a day comes full and bloated
of nothingness, its hopeless
For here exists no escape
no medics to resuscitate
beware its woeful, siren way
when trapped, you surely dead, will lay
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 7:41 PM UTC
to live happy where I live,
one must believe
that squirrels are no problem and
weeds are flowers that last longer
than those from the grocery store
and crows only sing in choirs for a joke,
all musty beliefs,
whose aroma lifts me and leaves me
among other worthy ideas that hang
with those
musty beliefs
when I notice being happy, after
suffering
the inefficiency of evil,
this day, enough, a sufficiency
of failure
every day,
to staunch my pride from damming
living waters flowing from
the kingdom within to
this rest of the world I partake in
as the joke the crows were singing of.
(You are so vain. ) What a line.
I thought the song was about me,
that line, anyway.
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 4:28 PM UTC