Against All Odds

In the land of success and triumph, his misery prevails.
Keeps to himself, his woes and sufferings.
A sudden quick flash in his eyes signifies the opportunity he awaits.
But alas, his airplane of dream shatters.
So he runs back to his room; sobs to himself, attenuating himself to the core.
He stops; he isn’t the one who yammers. A believer not skeptic he is.
He’ll be back on his feet to shape a vision he beholds.
To fall while running doesn’t bother him, he’s an object of failures,
A prey to cheat who falls for deception; subject to sweat he’d be chipped to perfection.
With all the qualities he’s now ready to take the world. And with every step he came closer to his dream.
Now at the he’s witnessed his victory, he breaks down. It’s something he can’t describe.
He nurtured his conquest, took pains of all sorts,
Now look where he stands, against all odds.

Believe Me

Audacity to swindle, plethora of hypocrisy
Tangling the mankind into the unknown.
The day I came, saw people being thrown away.
Whatever I’ve seen, is a lie I perceived.
Every time, false is amplified, stresses upon.
Moulded with fallacy, followed by the colors of complicity
World is a lie, maybe it’s meant to be
I’ve been a trial to such phases, so do believe me.

Do believe in me when I say I can
Resume your faith in me and get along
Because there’s no ordain, no limit to lie.
Behind the eyes, lies two open ended doors – red and white
The red dominates and devours the handful
“Resist, keep calm and believe in truth.”
Says white, a revolt against the outrage.
But unfortunately, humans have stepped forward.
No longer does white act as a barrier to prevent people from being bruised.
Oh, I weep for humanity.
I gaze into an air of darkness, and retrospect.
Consider a thought if I actually know of what all lies beneath me
I’ve been a prolific spectator to this madness, so do believe me.

So it is disappointing to hear and surprises me every time,
Murderers hunt when they want to, and get away easily
Like nothing happened, like not a leaf rustled.
If only they could hear the cries unheard.
Even hearing about them, sickens me from inside
But I wonder, doesn’t it prick their conscience?
Even if we catch them and hang to death, all our efforts will bear nothing
Monster is killed, monstrosity isn’t.
They’ll be back to haunt us all the time
Enough of the sinister, I feel even the dead plead to me
Let’s not be a silent witness to all this suffering
Because tomorrow might be our turn,
And yet we plan to watch the world burn?
This must stop. This must stop.
Stamping the progression of these blood hounds before nightmares of the unjust eat me
Those days will arrive soon enough, so do believe me

Midnight Monologues Part 1

Source: Midnight Monologues Part 1

Midnight Monologues Part 1

11.01 pm, 27th September, 2015

There’s no particular emotion I write this with. Nor the intent, nor the will. But some things, as I’ve began to pick from my evolving experiences; because learning is and always has been an expanding curve, are simply needed to be done.

The clock in my immediate vicinity shows that both hands have finally joined themselves in unison and called it a day. A symbolic gesture for all those earthlings and non-earthlings who have hopelessly hoped for the demise of this disdainful day.

I can hear it. I can feel the pointy sharp mechanical twitch meddling with my train of scattered thoughts, rushing towards my eardrum like a gush of unheard sounds finding for an audience.

All they are looking for is a mouthpiece, or a sound horn.
All they want to do is to be heard.
All they want is to find emotional relief.
All they want is respite , from the muck that pounds their conscience.
All they want, is everything we want.
Human. Non Humans. Regardless.
Trouble touches all.
Makes us the children of same mother. Moulds of same mud. Travelers of the same magic bus.
Everyone is a traveler, with cycles of joy and sadness being just another stop at the omega station.

About the mouthpiece. Maybe I’m in a dire need of one.
Or many.
One would do,though.

The time for me to hold my train of thoughts has finally arrived. This is a self made opportunity and I’m counting on it to succeed. There is so much to be told, to be understood, to evaluate and re evaluate.

In a nutshell, I write today to become a betterment of my current self, for at stake is the love of dear and near ones which I have lost. Make no mistake, for there’s no portal at play here to turn things back the way they were.

Regardless, it would result in a paradox, leaving the world with even more severe wounds and also, punctured lungs.

The mind is a marvel.
A warehouse of memories.
A jar of thoughts.
A colossally huge library with different emotions neatly stacked in distinct shelves.

Emotion. This will be my savior now. I will attempt to retrace my steps and earnestly search of what I’ve said or done that has led to this point of starvation.

It is the worst thing, to be starved.