The Pessimist Talking

The Pessimist Talking

Still you’d say, death would not have been better
than this life of looking the other way,
of silent compromise with the devil
and perchance even worse! “But tomorrow…”
Yes, what this afternoon was yesterday;
that is how tomorrows will ever be
a past hope, an illusion in the end!

       

Still you’d root for friends over solitude,
as if our company and partners say
more of us than what we are underneath
and perchance even lie! “But a real friend…”
A wolf, hidden behind the face of man;
that is how all friends will turn out to be,
a promise, that was shattered in the end!

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A String of Escapades

A String of Escapades

So my love, do I walk away all defeated and resigned?
I could blame it all on my fate
but knowing I too ought to have a hand
in making life a string of escapades,
think I better keep these thoughts to myself!
   

I missed talking to you about my indecisiveness,
though I know, now is not the time or place
for such petty feelings, it is your time to grow
and be the Summer of abundance for the world;
the final days of Fall is on the previous page!
   

Is it I whose power lets my fingers fly on the board?
Is it I who makes my neurons construe
sensory stimuli the way they do?
I wish all these were dreams I’m having in my grave!

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A Petition To Posterity

A Petition To Posterity

We live in a strange time,
when pigs are more obscene than mass murder and rape,
when cows are more precious than human life,
when the fire of compassion and nirvana burns
all the different ones alive!
    

Perhaps the world is worshiping one God at last,
after toiling and shedding both our sweat and blood
for more than thirteen thousand years,
a God that ought to thrive on spreading fear
about people on the other side!
     

Perhaps the posterity will
charge our dead bones one day and justly too,
for atrocities against humankind,
in the name of a God painted more like a scorned shrew!

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The Illusion of Knowing

The Illusion of Knowing

Who can guarantee, we are not blind?
All the stars that are dying now, if they are
a billion light years away, their demise
we’d know after a billion years!
Till then, astronomers would map the light
as forlorn poets across the world would pledge
their love with poems, penned through the night!

    

And still you’d say, we are not blind!
Neither deaf, nor numb till we feel or hear
the lights from the act or sounds from the scene!
Still you’d insist that we can know,
despite our existence in a superior dream!

     

Last night’s sweet residue of a tender happiness
though palpably spread across the length of my skin,
with my long history of waking up to find,
the joyful surrender was only a mere dream,
I hope this is not one of those times! If it is,
let me sleep as I don’t want to wake up again!

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