Oh how they know how,
A dance of callousness,
A long silent stream of pain
(to the veins).
Oh it isn’t them,
It is merely your own
Stifled, tortured soul.
For I lay my life as a toast,
to a deep deathful slumber.
For no passion ignites my heart,
and no art seem worthwhile.
For no dream seem worth chasing,
and no beauty well defined.
The word best in front of friend
Was like a red traffic light
On the roadside,
For a drunk raging driver could still come,
and blow you away,
It was not for surety of safety,
It still screamed a warning.
Suddenly the fear resided,
not in the gradual fading of memories
but rather in their singular nature, provided
that when in future they be babbled out in reminiscence
they render not a companionable giggle
but rather a blank stare.
If love was geometrical,
I waited forever with
A triangle of a heart
In hope to find a match
And make a diamond
of a relationship.
But all I came across,
Was an array of alternate lines.
Some days I wake up
to my mom rushing around
or my dad at his office table
or sometimes with both of them with a frown
And just while I am having
a lazy moment of haze
They throw something angry at me
and it will force me in this faze
It would be something like “You don’t care for me”
or ” You will only wake up when I am dead”
but these phrases instantly go all the way to my brain
and I leave my state of dreamy happiness in vain
I know that they might not mean it really
or have said it in a burst of temporary exasperation
But even for the most disobedient careless child
they could pierce all the way to the heart; these crazy suggestions
At night these thoughts and remarks make me uneasy
and I check up on them while they sleep
I squint my eyes and see their bellies rising and falling in the dark
and only with this daily ritual can I fall back asleep