"obtrusion" poems
*"There is a certain placidity in my seclusion .
The feeling of affection seems like an obtrusion.
Here is peace , but out there whole world is prying.
Probing us for flaws and they never stop trying.
Testing us with abstracts like love & what-not.
As the chains of spurious amity tighten the ****** knot.
I am amidst the society, yet I am sequestered.
And the resentment has become more festered.
I have no enmity for the world out there.
In lieu of perfidious world , I prefer to be here.
That fabricated affinity I just elude.
So, I always hanker for tranquility of my personal solitude ."*
-asim.javid
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 3:17 AM UTC
.
Fusion--
a mastermind might find confusin'!
An obtrusion,
a tree that hides a mouse from an eagle.
Jumping into what you believed was a river--
an illusion.
Sanctuary...on Monkey Island.
.
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
This world runs on ones and zeroes,
Decorated by smoke n' mirrors,
Mirrors; reflecting the hopes and fears.
Smoke; that’s the obstacles, obstruction, the obtrusion.
The tools used by self-destruction, self-delusion.
A reminder; this body is mine,
This temple is built just fine.
But all construction ends in due time.
At the number we expire
So for the moment I do what I **** well want, please or desire.
Cause I love to play with fire.
Know nothing that gets me higher.
It's not even the way it looks or dances,
Im possessed by the touch, that feel,
The heat of chances, the burn of bad luck
And
The blisters that remind me that I heal.
He said that’s what people do,
We go off, on, off, on until the end of infinity,
Just like the two digits repeating.
Zero and one, whole and none.
Told me binary defined entirety
But numbers don’t reside inside of me.
Like anyone else I’ve just got the message, the virus, the word
It’s been spoken, spat and spun
Rarely is it caught, got or heard.
But I figured out why, he said figures fill up the skies
When I looked up and why did I spy with my little eye?
Each night I see less star light
I remembered;
Stars light, Stars bright, first star I see tonight,
I wish I may I wish I might
Have the wish I wished that night,
The will to fight, the means to win
Give me childhood all over again,
So I can make the same mistakes twice,
Given the chance I’d make ‘em a third and a forth
Everytime I scratch I increase in worth.
Though only given one birth,
One chance to play with flames like they’re stars ablaze
Before zero; the end of time,
Even the magic held by that nursery rhyme
Cant match the reason, time presses on and
That moment between is all we’re given
And at some points you’ll think you’re doing it wrong,
Listen when I say carry on.
Because even if the world can be represented
by the two numbers he presented,
Time spent playing with fire is never regretted
You don’t forget it.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 4:54 PM UTC
Leaving
but for where?
I hardly know
from what?
'tis not a point of departure
but that something
too heavy
a burden to bear
the weight of self
life's obtrusion
and oppression
its wear and tear
time is the sentinel
here, there, everywhere
the busybody that intrudes
it has no conscience neither does it care
whether the moment
is the exit or entry
never in agreeable juxtaposition
with the brittle human condition
leaving then should I again say
for no destination, for nowhere
but sure to be homeward-bound some obscure day
a hiatus-- what next of life is there to share?
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 12:11 AM UTC
do what makes you happy
and the rest be ******
forget the critics
the naysayers
the reviews
forget those who pounce
at first glance with
unsolicited feedback
forget those who wait
with serrated edges
for the unveiling
of your back
forget those who lambaste
and castrate your creativity
or worse, those who
try to help you
improve it
and then there are those who
uplift and support your work
say thank you
and
forget them
too.
forget about polishing the knobs
off the editors of poesy or
the literary brotherhood
and sisterhood
forget about your friends,
your enemies and
your audience
all together
they are a cough drop
trying to cure an illness
do it
the way it was meant to be done:
without obtrusion
without approval
without asking
don’t allow them
to cloud your mind
with judgment
of any kind
do what makes you happy
and the rest be ******
Dec 31, 2024
Dec 31, 2024 at 10:42 AM UTC
A certain intangible
Remains to be unseen.
Too fast or, perhaps, too slow,
The want of spirit keen:
Eternal is the word -
That promise it assured.
Can more be sought to aid these woes?
Eternal is illusion:
A pond, upon obtrusion,
May try maintain its steady shape
But in the wake there lies
The high, the low inside
To permeate, disrupt, create:
Of what is made eternity
That's more than lack'd vitality?
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC