"utopic" poems
Why, God, is there so much pain and suffering?
Because, my child, without such
You would be so terribly uninteresting
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Nightmare number nine.
I dream of Utopic world,
A world without sins and crime,
Without a shout or cry,
No ghosts haunting the nights,
Will that world sustain?
A world with no pain..
A world so perfect,
That you wouldn’t enter in it again.
.
Ironic, I laud sadness,
I call a beautiful dream a nightmare..
Weird sounding thoughts, weird creepy madness!
But a day needs a night, a night needs a day,
To get more closer, one needs to be away..
So, how will it sustain?
A world with no pain…
The world without paradoxes, a world without mistakes,
A world so perfect, that it gets too close to be a fake.
How a good is good? If there is no conflicting bad?
How can one be happy? Without once being sad?
So, when everything is perfect ,
When everything is fine,
I know that I have entered in my nightmare number nine.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 7:36 AM UTC
an empty room
I fill it
With my thoughts.
I get to thinking
About everything.
I stand among many
Receiving awards
Reciting speeches
I must win one every day
And the speeches change,
Like the wind.
There's never
any faces,
Not even
my own
Ain't that strange?
Just the
Splintered visions
Breaking through
With spears
Of emotion.
I guess that
The image
Isn't even important:
It's the feeling,
The sensations,
The prayers,
The mantras,
And endless dreams.
It's an idealistic bubble.
Which I could
Live in forever,
But I'd never get anything done.
I get to looking
At my watch.
Only thirty minutes
has passed,
How can that
be possible?
I've already travelled
to the serene corners
of my desires.
I've dipped my
toes in lustful wants.
I've soared to
pinnacles of success,
In thirty minutes.
Then the perpetual
Smog of stagnant
English gloom
Returns to me
In my Utopic chamber,
Bursting my bubble.
I hone back
to the moment,
and then I
put my pen
Down to paper.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Does life even have a purpose
Or has society given it meaning
I don't remember being born with a checklist
But society saw my gift and wrote my destiny
I try to elude it, but it always finds me
Is free-will a myth and is success the only deity
Don’t get me wrong I’m not complaining
I’m not the recalcitrant teen who rebels to revel
I’m the one who’s lost at the intersection of fate and destiny
God decides your fate they told me
They told me there’s a god inside me
And the fate I’ve chosen is poles apart my destiny
I am coerced into craving this utopic life idealised by society
Who should I pick, who knows better?
Society that evolved over eternity or a teen just past puberty
In these moments I turn to love to help me
I think of my parents and do as they tell me
Love demands selflessness and that will drive me
My purpose on this earth is to help everyone besides me
Nov 9, 2022
Nov 9, 2022 at 1:45 PM UTC
filled up with enmity coiling up inside
The chest billows up
Thy want to heave it out
Then destined to tranquility
The claws scratch the flesh
Death gnaws on the remnants of longevity
Unless visions have a chest
To burst out into effervescence
Spontaneous sigh is kicked out of your breath
The clavicles sharpen, the eyes ogle ahead
The nothingness dilates
The flicker has no entrance for itself to adumbrate
For utopia has its own gore
To marvel over inside,
The plasters of bliss
Have guffawed over the gullible dusk
The gloom has left with a whisper
A muttering not to be heard
The relief has sewed on flesh
With the clouds coming out of thy outburst
The relief rebirths the serenity
Has been meandered, halted
For thou shed leaves
Making agony to clouds of no return
Utopic defiance,
the idiosyncratic anectodes
Stains of externalized innundation
For the literal existance of hope.
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 7:13 AM UTC
Many are stupefied by utopic love.
Each aside they unwisely shove
The one made for them with divine care;
But one lover is astute, the other ensnared.
But, to devise a plan to speak
Of the fervor in their hearts (not meek)
Would mean to usher all aside
One’s vulnerability, fear, and pride.
First time around, most subtly,
Interest expressed, transcendently,
And shatters a transparent door,
While these two strangers are strangers no more.
Then:
The slightest step towards her heart is taken;
She quickly retracts, he quickly mistaken.
She thinks:
“I’ve grown tired of being jaded.
My loud wits and dreams have faded,
Far along the river waves,
Saddened by these trees and shades!
But there he stands, perfect and well.
I...here...scared like hell,
For I have never felt like this,
Not even with a woman’s kiss.”
He thinks:
“What, exactly, have I done
That she retreats, a fate undone?
There! In her eyes, the heart’s edifice,
Conjures true love’s precipice,
But screams of the real demise
Of past lovers: spears and lies.”
In truth, her wits may sometimes offend,
But with him she would most commend
His charming smile, his virility,
While he embraces her wholeheartedly.
Thus, their imaginations painted beyond
A sea of perfection, like a song,
And marked a journey of these two
Just for a moment, as most strangers do.
But the stars have placed attraction laws
For these two lovers and their flaws
To come together, but not greet,
For the devil binds them in defeat.
So, a moment’s come, a moment’s passed
For these two soulmates, amour-cast;
The love she sought, the love he spoke
Has come and gone. That’s all they wrote.
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
Where is the truth in this world?
Does it knock on the door,
When it feels ready to enter
Or does it sneak into the heart
When it is ready to reveal?
Truth, so utopic
As it is to reach the farthest stars.
It overcomes the multiple bars
Seems as yet too metaphoric
Behind the garden of truth
You stand and watch the flowers bloom
But cannot open the floodlit door
Though the heart is seeking for the key
While truth remains still in the mystic breez.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
I got my first job.
Lesser than expected salary,
Otherwise, I'm very happy,
Very satisfied I'm as well,
Except for that change it I will.
You inspired me, Pooh Bear,
Of a bright future, I'm a holder,
Utopic partner, you're my beholder.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
I am scared of miscommunication
taking away the elation
of utopic conversation.
I'm not afraid of emancipation,
not on my toes for equality.
I'm horrified by overcompensation.
Our youth hardwires us into some basic
identity, from then on we may choose.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
Chika the angel in the distant clouds.
Treads slowly along the utopic path.
With eternity's splendour in your grip,
you were awoken by melodious sounds,
played by celestials who guided your trip.
You fled divinity's eternal wrath,
to dwell in realms of laughter infinite.
Those on earth have said a final goodnight,
desiring someday to share in this bliss,
when we like you will earn the Saviour's kiss.
Feb 26, 2021
Feb 26, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC
Thou ***** a minute of adversity,
stumping on the rival with two eyes;
As if an innundation overwhelms the ground
As thou hush the gore splattered
Arid as the utopic vision of the crowds
Everyone has accepted death
Noone bears the sound of the knell:
Thou shall still be petrified by the dark!
Shall miss a moment of ironic cleft:
Where thou tackle on mundanity and self bereft
Condolences to whomever has passed:
Away from a madness that clenches a crowd of no tomorrow, without a promise of longevity,
For they have given in to a visionary of death.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
Rain drops scatter my imaginations around the blades of the windmill,
They slowly churn away the wind as they sway away under their flawless motion,
The drops trickle down the blades as a magical potion,
These small prisms spread themselves throughout the greens as a free will.
Blends under the shadow of the trees,
Those finest dried leaves those are free,
Crushed under the finest whispers of laughter,
They find themselves deep beneath the graves of thee dead.
Undone by his deeds, found a way to freedom,
Broke those chains to move him away from the boredom,
Wandered to new horizons in search for new sensations
He had a motive to fulfill his life's frustrations
Sleep deprived, rumbling, rustling walking alone in the streets,
Was a man, with no desire, desire for success,
Under the ever moving sky was his never moving head down,
Just to find those crushed leaves bringing them back to the ground.
Anonymously carried himself through the hustle of the towns
Realized beneath the shade of the happiness there were many convincing frowns
Simplified his emotions to meet the needs of the protest,
Walking down those materialistic streets was just like a test
Surreal yet it may seem, deemed as crazy by the rest,
His demeanor was as hard as a rock,
For the miles forged under his feet he had to bear many shocks
Closure, without the joy or pain, he painted his road to his identity
The final destiny, the final moment, magical
Yet it may seem, was his final frontier, yet so simple
Utopia, his elixir of life, which he kept searching for,
Happiness and sorrow kept burdening him all the way along,
Yet he found a way to move on and on and on.......
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 5:38 AM UTC
I've had a series of dreams where things went differently then they did in real life.
Where nobody left.
And nobody was hurt.
One dream in particular keeps coming back, the one where nothing really makes sense, but it makes me feel better sometimes.
I remember running, and she was beside me.
But I immediately knew it was a dream because she was taller than me.
She's never been taller than me. And here I am...
Running beside a 5 foot 8 version of my once best friend.
What?!
This dream is so weird.. and yet it feels so normal.
She's never had to look down to see me.
Heck, she's never had a reason to look up to me either.
For height eye contact or otherwise.
And somehow this dream follows me, her, and her significant other into a building.
I'm in a hallway saying that I'm on my way to a specific room.
She says she'll follow me there.
For some reason, because this is a dream, I go to a completely different room, a shop actually.
Woodshop. Like the one I went to at school.
I don't even know what I'm doing there, I'm not sanding or doing any work, they are. I don't know what they're doing, I'm watching this alternate version of a person just...
Exist.
And suddenly she cuts her hand on a saw blade. Much like I have in shop class.
I don't panic, I grab paper towel, and start wrapping her hand.
She's gonna be fine.
She's gonna be fine..
There's no dialogue, nobody says anything, I'm just taking care of someone I care about.
This dream is just playing out.
I wake up...
I feel content and somewhat happy for a second.
But then I remember I was dreaming.
I was dreaming...
And that's okay.
But I return to a reality where none of that happened.
And I suddenly feel the utopic dream leave me.
I can't even remember most of the dream, and this is all I have.
This isn't the first time I've woken up from a better dream life to find that I'm here.
But I do need to realize that I'm here.
Despite everything.
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Oft times I wonder what I should do with myself.
I look off in all four directions at any given time
And there is no direction.
I find myself wandering--in a period of wandering.
What does a man say to himself during such times?
It’ll be okay, things will work themselves out in the end?
There would seem to be little solace in this axiom.
Life is strange.
Like the sickening loop-de-loops on our best roller-coasters.
I type this out on a digital tablet with virtual keyboard
In utter perplexity.
An old soul in fast times…
Tense times,
Shallow times.
My neighbors amidst this age haven’t the patience to see how
Events birthed from hollow promises and hasty decision will work
Themselves out.
Promises from leadership whose god is the U.S. dollar.
We get a logjam of hurried consumerist theoretical practices,
Ruthlessly implemented as some kind of workable
Reality among a conditioned populace.
In the end, the only beneficiary to this manufactured bliss
Is the savvy and rich manure shoveler--that neighbor
Among us who throughout each and every day shovels
The materialistic dung into our throats and fully expects
His fellow neighbors to swallow this **** in expectancy
Of the utopic times to come.
And so the tail teases.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
The world's idea of perfection
Is unattainable
Which is why people are never satisfied
But
Isn't that what those of power want
People to never be satisfied
With themselves
So they try to mold themselves
Into something that no one can be
They attempt to be
"Perfect"
Grow muscles
Inject implants
Manipulate their flesh
Until it's just right
Yet
They will never achieve something
That's perfect
They will never be satisfied
Even though they strive to be
Because it's all
Unrealistic
Unattainable
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 7:38 PM UTC
You had fallen asleep. I guess so. Your breathing is smooth, if I could touch your breath, if I could touch the nightfall outside, the sensation would be the same. I no longer throw a fit for not receiving attention. I used to, but you had said, "Don't tell me that humans should treat each other equally. That's Utopic." At that time I told you to cease talking to me for two days. However the same afternoon you texted me your thoughts after reading 1Q84 (you emphasize you finished it in a week, twice the speed of me), and I accidentally forgave you. I still loathe those words, yet I grudgingly let it influence me.
"Am I kidding? I hate you," I say, pushing you off my bed and onto the ground. You sleep like a corpse. The bugs outside cease colliding into the window after the lights are off, remaining the bumptiously round moon. I imagine myself as Aomame, stepping into an alternate universe with two moons. I squint my eyes, maybe I'll see two that way. The orbed moon becomes clearer. I might be too near-sighted.
"You're too stupid. You have to space out to see two moons." Your voice comes from the ground. I pretend not to hear you but I try anyway. I really do see two moons.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 3:40 AM UTC