Skip to main content

Pain of Living



A flyover collapses
over the corpse of human life
and a bomb explodes across the street
in what is known as another Country
a large conglomerate of blood and fear
spills all over
and the dirty mind laughs
an over-speeding drunk vehicle rams
into a trivial footpath
and some perish
the creation which took painful nine months
gets out of this world
in friction of nanoseconds
should this bring a numbness to the heart
or a “life goes on” hashtag in the brain
to inspire the self-degraded human mind
of course their kids died, why should we bother
the news channels bring the new chemistry to the chaos
the morning innocent Sun and the silence
and the newspapers are an imperfect match
morning Tea is still better
the subtle pain of the mind, though
stays in the corridor of thoughts
every life, killed so ruthlessly
every day, mostly so, without any reason
makes living so fragile, so decadent, so liquid
trampled by politics
and fuelled by greed
life is a monosyllabic myth

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Rise with you

  When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm.   Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky.   In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget.   Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista   And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love.   And when the night descen...

Morning Walk

  I was smitten by the silence of the dawn, or perhaps it was the dew that clung to the grass like a secret too fragile to speak. The trees stood tall, their leaves whispering stories of nights spent wrestling the wind, and I thought it was just me but the sparrow, too, carried the weight of its nest, the ant its crumb, the spider its web, each thread trembling with the burden of holding on.   The sun rose, not with a fanfare, but with a quiet insistence, pushing through the haze like a hand reaching for a forgotten name.   A butterfly brushed past, its wings a flicker of pale yellow against the orange sky, and I thought it was just me but the flower, too, had its petals to unfurl, its nectar to offer, its brief, bright moment in the sun.   The path stretched ahead, winding through the shadows and the light, and I thought it was just me but the earth, too, had its cracks to mend, its roots to...

Is it love of a decadent kind?

The fact that deep down within me is a desire to be a philosopher doesn’t go down so well with what I feel as down and out human and I am in that mold now as I stop for a while and think of her She makes me appear as a lover when we cuddle up our emotions together and in the hazy shades of the day when she needs to drowse the fires of her insecurities I become her mother I don’t think I interchange the roles by choice every moment is undisclosed and beautiful even though chaotic When I dream of her we lose our inhibitions in the wildest of ways in the morning when I talk to her, I become her friend, again And, I do not touch her but we bare our soul, as naked as it can be and just after that emulsification of minds I become her soul-mate never to be apart in a non-worldly sense Surely there is an attraction Sometimes sublime and immaculate sometimes too boldly honest Sometimes a sinful construct W...