How Bad Is It To Learn How To Love?
When was the last time that
you have loved and lost,
and truly learn
its real, real cost?
(Utter feelings we kept the most.)
Is there a kind of an exit plan in
this lonesome strife,
something that we'd
cherish through life?
Let, therefore, our choices be
the wisest,
Hoping to see us live it through
the longest
We tend to love the ones we
have loved more (and more),
more so, that we sometimes
have lost control, until no more.
(Utter feelings we kept the most.)
The Smell Of Bog
Old ways, olden days
Can it impart wisdom now?
Peats, earthworms, rhizomes—
[1]
mind of man
came to me in a slink,
suddenly appearing,
while firmly in place.
Disenfranchised, discriminated, decapitalized
Disorganized, dominated, doomed,
The middle pushed to the margins,
The margins, influencing the middle.
The right is right, the left wrong,
A web woven of similar work,
Yet the fly does not see the web infront,
He is merely trapped in the web,
Oblivious.
But yet the web is his death.
He struggles to get out, but the web’s grip is too strong.
He waits to die, struggling to get out of the web, but as he struggles it continues to wrap around his body further.
He is now consumed.
He’s in the belly of the beast.
Dead, consumed.
He’s with me all the time,
We’re practically best friends.
He’s there for me the hard times the most.
He’s the worst friend I’ve ever had,
I regret the moments I introduced him to my life.
He taunts me, provokes me, pushes me,
He ruins me.
He turns me, frustrates me, rushes me,
He makes me.
I struggle to get him out of my life,
But he only gets closer.
I try to block him out,
But he only gets darker.
I hate him. But he loves me.
I wish him out of my life with the little passion he’s left me with,
But he remains around me,
As if his sadistic job was to torture me through this period of my life,
I loath him for this resulting strife.
I’m told one day he’ll die,
And rather than suffering in perpetuation,
I will caese the constant struggle towards evasion,
But his ghost may haunt my internal abrasions,
I wish his death would hasten…
I know he’ll die eventually.
Being left with his sporadic memories.
See the broken mirror to see many
Each is different, each is from one
What to see and how to see
Too many to find the real one
Or maybe all are just as real as the other
No false one just absolute realness
To see is difficult; perhaps the way to see is wrong
Wrong all this time
All of the real ones are just blind
Then to see is wrong
Only wrongness as the sight tells
Each night I am lulled asleep
by a sea of nameless chirping crickets.
All of whom, tells stories of their children.
“Bobby just learned how to ride a bike,
Jane and I couldn’t help but laugh
as we chased after him.”
“And after I gave the presentation
Mr. Hughes gave me a promotion.”
“My homework is boring but
my dishwasher is broken and
I had to go swimming across the lake
but I was laid off of work today.”
I am comforted at night
by indistinguishable chirps.
Long dead of night and day...
Half-awake, half-dreaming.
Thunderstorm outside,
The raging raindrops sing.
Purple candle light.
Drowsy, tired eyes...
A warm-blooded earthling
Soaked in the tub.
Intense thoughts of chicken tandoori
And cheese naan from 'Kapitan'...
All these and a placid, deep snooze,
To salvage myself, I choose.
Rain pours down, droplets glide
Forming crystal-like patterns
On the gloomy glass window
Where I rest my weary head on.
Bokehs of green lights,
Red glares on rear bumpers.
Yellow suns at night, gleam.
I squint at the creaking wipers.
Strobing lightning, growling thunder,
Snobbed by the busy road.
People chattering behind, in all languages...
I close my eyes, oblivious.
I feel the Earth spin so fast as I sit still.
The seconds of my life tick.
Purpose. Mission. Calling.
I brace myself...exhale.
Doing a lot, but missing a lot.
You can't have it all.
But deep inside, you have a strong sense-
Why this is what you are living for.
Dreams. Passion. Happiness.
All the roads lead to where I am.
Here and now...here we go.
Sometimes, you just wonder--if it's all worth it.