"I went through my old notebook
One after other,the pages were a surprise.
There were cross marks all over
As if the words were,all lies.

I smiled over every crosses
But then my heart felt sad.
Because I could not remember,
What did i want to write,So bad?

Just like my unfinished poems,
Are some unread books.
Few unsaid words,And the final looks.
The tears unrubbed,
And smiles unlaughed,
Few hugs unembraced
And memories uncarved.

There is a pain,And lies a pleasure
In some unquestioned questions,
And those unanswered answers.

In something that stays,But is gone.
In poems like this,Which is never a complete one.

Advertising, and, selling; avarice.
From, a soap box, of; loving hate.
When, it's, screens, are, turned-off,
the blackened, square hole, is; cavernous.
When, it's, viewership, is, turned-on,
the captor's, uncleanly; reel in the bait.

Once, steeled, and, mettled, imaginations.
Welded, into; cerebral shackles.
Worn by, zombies; the meaty prisoners,
in, solitary cells, of; fabrication.
Webbed, lied-to, wrists; impressed upon,
misunderstand, their; upped hackles.

Furring clasps, around; synapses.
The servitude, of, stroke-ing, lost selves.
Capital flesh, is, imprisoned, in, the
cholesterol, of, shop aisles. It collapses.
"There's, MORE, in the back... Hurry up!!
Stop thinking... Stock the shelves!!"

Want's desires; outlived hope, and, outlast,
any, notion, or, sense, of, mind.
Audienced memories, are; captured,
by; forgetful, dredged, enmeshed; pasts.
'Compatriots of Togetherness', are;
canned myth; unlaughed. Re-runs; resigned.

© poormansdreams