Drugs and Ink

My life is like the ruins of Jericho,

Ancient walls, alien and catatonic

standing contorted,

A stagnant instance of time

neither moving ahead, nor behind;

My life is like the blinking eyes of a blind

A beggar unkind,

A ship that cannot sail, cannot sink.

All that I possess

Is a restless mind

and a heart that cannot think,

Sleepy days, wakeful nights

An abundance of drugs and colourless ink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A life, a dream, a disguise

A life, a dream, a disguise

A heart full of hearts

A mind filled with surprise;

 

A chamber to wallow

The world to observe

And myself to follow;

 

All in this life I have

Is a life, a dream, a disguise.

 

Back bent, knee straight

Alone I sit

Whilst peace awaits.

 

And as every moment of this eternal existence,

Surfs its way by

I ponder upon the latest lie,

 

For that is all I have

A life, a dream, a disguise

A heart full of hearts

A mind filled with surprise.

 

A life;

a dream;

a disguise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People to Talk to

I am looking for people,
To talk to,
I don’t step out every other weekend
But that does not mean I am an introvert,
Don’t assume so that I cannot,
But I fail to find people I would want to go out with.
People whom I could talk to in rhymes,
People who have a stable heart and an open mind,
People who are not chained to the bells
Not scared of their chimes.
I’m searching for people
Who are ambitious but not blind,
Who are brave at heart and though they believe in fear
Are ready to give up everything,
even themselves for their dreams,
I want to meet those dreamers, the mad hatter’s, and the insane jokers.
People who want to grasp every star in the sky,
But don’t mind if they don’t.
I am looking for people
With capability to probe a million bizarre ideas,
Yet free from influence except their own,
People who intend to grow forever
And yet never outgrow
For people who are more than what they show.

What do you do?

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you sit by the window,
And look out, 
Look out at the world,
Wonder, what it is like to be that bee that hums and hovers over that red rose,
Or think about the decisions you made; the path you are walking on; and the people you chose.

Are you disturbed when you are alone?
Shhh! Come close
Close to yourself. 
Its cozy and comfy and lonely,
Better than those who are but are not
And those too who want to and cannot.

What do you do?
When you have nothing to.
Do you look into the mirror
And embrace the facade,
Click yourself and then edit
Whilst nature loses its credit.
Or do you rather see into your eyes
Try to locate the scars on your soul.

Is there a want of death lurking  about?
Hmmm! Shut up. 
Why to bother with it,
Or why to try to grasp its arms,
It is on its way to you anyhow.
So, you better live and act
Before the final bow.

What would do you do?
If you had something to do.
Hold someone's hand and with them stay
Or by yourself walk away,
Chain yourself with the laws meant to bound
Or hustle to change the things around,
Sweat and bleed to carve your way, 
Or would you let go and give away,
Dream a reality
Or lose yours to a dream,
Mediate in silence
Or burst out in screams,
Try to find what you desire
Or would you lose yourself in the world's mire,
If you had something to do?
Would you hold someone's hand and walk away
Or in your solitude forever stay.

One to the head

One to the head
One said 7 times, the gun was shot,
The other said it pierced him thrice.
Both of them sure, that one was to the head,
And the next moment a human being died.
He was a writer
And a man who expressed,
And showed the World
True colours of a false paradise,
These heathens in a legion’s disguise,
But their reaction, was full of surprise.
For instead of understanding
What he was trying to make them understand,
They blamed him for his religious reprimand.
And summoned him in the court of law,
And that court was swell
And that law was flawed.
But before the law could prove his guilt,
He was condemned of sins and shot,
In the middle of the street,
Against the sun’s glaring heat,
He lost the battle he never fought.
7 bullet shots were shot
Three piereced through him,
But it took just one to the head,
To leave a writer and a human being
In the street, bloodied and dead.
Have no clue about the others,
He has my respect,
For he only said that was true,
Which others could not accept,
And that there is something wrong with the world,
Do you not suspect?