Tag Archives: People

Longings

Longings.
Of being able to say what I can’t hold anymore.
Of time.
Not running out of my hands like sand.
Creeping slowly when I want to halt and feel nothing.
Of being able to cry,
Oh cry!
Cry my bones out
and feel weightless.
To feel it sliding down my stomach
that wet, teary smelled, broken breath
that makes noise like death.

Longings.
Of a month after months,
a day when all the waiting
would be justified.
Of transformation.
When walls, smells, soaps, noises, faces, foods, colours, water, spaces, vacuums, fillers, rooms, ceilings, birds, roads, dust, seasons would change.
Of answers beyond the stories of transformations.
Would it be enough?
Or would I still wait for another story with a longer waiting?
And would this be my life?
Just this?

Longings.
Of being loved the way I want.
Of being able to drown into those moments that look like pauses,
like photographs still and deep.
And no matter how long you gaze at them,
nothing about them changes.
Of someone someday loving me
without telling the need to leave
for work, meetings and appointments.
Someone free
of the damages of this world.

Longings.
Of being able to cut off from these ideas
that I never chose but
they still surround me like daily soaps
running in some distant room.
Whom would you want to kill more?
The makers or the viewers?
The idea of settling down,
earning money,
getting up at 8 and sleeping at 10,
schedules,
using calendars and watches and setting alarms,
of being a people pleaser,
going to parties and wearing make up,
of not being moody, looking presentable,
following dress codes, hiding womanhood,
avoiding rebels, hating rovers, condemning hippies,
men and women and some other avoidable species,
hate the government, argue to look safe,
women’s respect is in her vagina, men have balls of steel,
live in hypocrisy and die full of regrets.
Of imagination.
Imagine a world without these ideas.
Of realisations such as these:
even imaginations
are nothing less than wars.

Longings.
Of rushing into now and now
and now in this next moment.
When anything can happen
Or maybe nothing would happen.
But at least it will be a newer now.
And in every now
I look a little more like nothingness.
Every now full of silence.
More peace and the world
more disappeared.

Longings.
Of someday being able to
write this again
another space, pen and paper
and putting an end to it.
No, not the poem,
the longings.
~P

It’s a mad mad world

People are people
they can’t be anyone
anyone can be people
and then i see no meaning

They taught us things
now things aren’t even those things
masks are falling off
and how rapidly
not even one could I catch
I would have tried
to be what they say
you can’t ever be

for every evil is evil
and good is evil
why not be the evil
than not being any

It’s a mad mad world
their voices
they think are sacred chants
never realized
their temple bells
stink of bloodied hands

Blood that cycles
with pain and cramps
gives life to monsters
as well as how they said
he is a man
all they die
the same death
it’s the blood
that bears the name
of spots, strains and wreath

It’s a mad mad world
they said God made it
wrote books
called them legends
Named him ‘He’
for She was the truth
they had to hide
If I am to tell you
a secret
I call her She
and sometimes
I forget the God
I am to say God
and almost it sounds Gdo
or Dgo
like I fell from sacredness
to callousness
but every night
in every ‘ness’
I visit the same God
without name
sans thought

It’s a mad mad world
pinches to live in
they have made homes
say they’re shelters
all false
all false
they’re never ending walls
but all false
If I am to say
for once be at a madhouse
raw and real
in the end
It’s a mad mad world

and it’s never
going to make sense
born in a fence
they kill you
in the fence

It’s a mad mad world.