Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions.
It’s born out of the head of ignorance,
it resides in the heart of the blind.
It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body,
until fully enslaved by inaction.
It turns agents into sun tanners,
activists into office workers,
outlaws into accountants.
It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws,
it places crowns on faceless leaders.
It slaps a smile across the *****, the beaten, the neglected,
the racially profiled.
It mutes news casts,
veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings,
glorifies the paycheck.
It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb,
corruption, and death proof.
It allows sleep at night,
it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet.
It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear.
It insures, “birds like to be caged,”
and “pain is just part of the human condition.”
It whispers these misconceptions
like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress.
Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy.
Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control.
Progress has forgotten it’s maker,
just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee.
Contentment leaks from the Western world
and infects all those around it.
When you are no longer content
you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life,
and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before.
When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.

The words are magical
Mysterious too
They entice us into
A world of fantasy
Lure us with their curves
And ****** us to play romantic games

I was not the exceptional
I was too entangled in it's web
Craved to write love,
Lust, beauty and people
Which fade away as clock ticks

They transformed my words into fictional
Took me away from this natural world
I was flying in it's beauties
I was touching it's indelible curves
And went deep inside it's private parts

I fell from that sky on a starry night
Like a star that laminates more
Hit to the grounds of reality
The fragile fantasies were shattered
Made me alone in my story

The reality is bitter unlike the fantasy
It bites my bones, eats my head
Burns my soul and torments my heart
To write what is true
Despite of being ugly and *****

As I walk along the pavements
My heart is loaded with misery
The agony it has brought is completely a mystery
All I realized,
The writers whom I read were impotent to write this pain down

Dustbins are screaming for mothers
Pavements are starving for food
Brothel houses are moaning for their souls
Preachers are filling hatred
Politicians are serving agony

I want to weep
I want to write
I want to bleed

Act 1

Drunk wispy clouds keep falling over the blue tarmac
Refusing to take off
And make way for a sun too shy to show itself

White Sea gulls tear warm winds apart
Flocks aimlessly meander along curves of the green isthmus

Toes of rocks along the shore
Play with bedsheets of ocean waves
Pulling and pushing layers of shallow blue waters

Our sky is an open air theatre
Where two kites chase each other’s tail
Dive deep and soar high
Overflow with dizzying adrenaline
While an old faithful sail on a fishing boat
Bogged down, tied to the command of ocean winds
Envies the freedom
Held by two fragile pieces of paper

Act 2

First three stars peek through purple curtain of sky
It is a cue for the Sun
To abandon it’s shyness and take a dip
Before tucking itself in seabed
He admires his reflection for a bit before
Waves break it apart into million glistening yellow diamonds
Shining, scattered over an orange ocean carpet

Sea gulls perch on rocks covered in seaweed
Sharing epic stories of victories and despair
Un-ashamed, in a loud communion

A lighthouse far in the distance
It’s bright eyes pierce an ever-growing darkness
Resolutely, dutifully
Guide the clueless in search of shore
Towering above fishing vessels docked by the bay
Our sky is a painter’s palette
Getting muddier with each dip of the brush
Before an artist gives up

Act 3

Gentle clouds cradle an infant moon
It’s distilled halo percolates down to wet beach sand
One light wave at a time

Sea is in a trance
Oscillating between extremes of anarchy and tranquility
Hiding in it’s depths the worst of pains
And mountains of hope

A fog laminates the seascape
Pulling up a curtain over naked chores of nature
For she has done enough for the day
Bathing in it’s own grandeur
Advertising itself to whole existence

Summer constellations peek over emerald green mangroves
Mythical heroes and queens come to life
Ready to command armies of bears and bulls
Summon dragons and centaurs
Ride chariots along the milky way
Before a truce is called again
And everyone slips into a slumber
with Lyres played in background

Our sky is an open air theatre
That mirrors itself in your dark eyes
And a whole cosmos of imagineered tales
Takes over mind's stage
When the curtains fall.