Aadat

Where are my fucking words?

Wasted on humans not worth?

That which I heard in my teens, that one fucking song ,

Cannot be where I shall always belong.

I should make myself a new melody,

Maybe, a melancholic rhapsody.

And I must incinerate the future,

So that my past doesn’t matter.

Happiness is not what I pursue,

I long for peace every single night,

Peace long due.

Destructive habits I do have,

That I could possibly never leave.

But discarding them should now begin.

Beginning with the ones,

My words who would not believe.

Goodbye Miss

Hundreds of words I have killed,
Over the last couple of minutes.
Words of substance should be scarce,
My Words are in dire need of cuts.

And so I make this detour,
From my principle of no goodbyes,
I am a simple, righteous, Godly man,
I can not live your dreams, your lies.

Unless I announce now,
I might be tempted to look back.
And what better place than here,
This is solely my territory,
And only these words talk back.

I have been exposed as mortal,
Over the last three years or so.
A conscious decision I wish I forget,
And may so the people who know.

I have been a man of uncompromising ideals,
And been with women of all kinds claiming so.
Tonight I bid adieu, to all of you.
No hard feelings, hope you know.

And no, I am no misogynist,
I am a misanthrope,
Denouement is not my expertise,
I have always been mindful of my scope.

Now I know

Why do the poets of the fall lament,
Sacrificing of our beautiful souls?

The impossibility of letting some people go,
They who love you and that you know.
The pain that lives forever, but we never show,
Now I know. Yes, I know.

I am a cold old man now,
Who am I kidding? I was never fun.
But my heart has run out of love,
I have none left, to give to anyone.

I hope they who have had it,
Preserve it well,
As for me, I have always lived in the past,
That story I need not tell.

People lose their senses to their ego,
Think a lot about a better tomorrow.
But the emptiness that follows?
That never ending sorrow?
Do you now know?
'Cause now I know. Yes, I know.

Alexander Pope

It is a tedious task,
Shelving memories.

Becoming
What you are not meant to be.
But the world wants to see.

We sit here, clueless!
Do we even need this done?

I have been told,
They have done it already.
I can do it too,
But the motive is missing.

Alarming, is the level,
of this Fucked-up-ness.

My wishes to the humankind,
May you never face,
A situation where ,
You need to claim you have loved again.

Love is a one time affair.
About other lies,  you needn't care.

Some play Gods,
Some act cool,
In the journey called life,
Blessed indeed are the forgetful.

Optimism

I sit and introspect. 

The things I have let go. 

Innocence is what I miss the most,

I couldn't notice it leaving though. 

I don't regret what life did to me. 

Cause life happens to us all, let it be.

I can just sympathize with it,

For having had to deal with me.

I shall forgive and will try to forget,

But would stay physically detached.

You would not be thrown into oblivion,

A once in a while cup of tea, is not that bad.

Cassandra

The point of no-return is in vicinity.

Maybe I should run and try,

To stop living a lie.

Or should I slow down,

Let the feeling linger, a little longer?

I've heard that time heals; makes you stronger.

My fickle mind flickers like a flame,

This moment I am this, the next that.

Atychiphobic  was the boy, as is the man.

What I really need is to stab my p_n_s,

Into the black hole at the centre of the universe.

Having fucked the world, I wish it just disappears.

Peace be upon us!

Frailty- Thy name

The puddles of water, lead to a random thought,

About the filth this city has introduced me to.
My conscience keeps wiping my mind clean,
My soul is tired, always seeking avenues new.

What have I wanted from life, really?
A plain, simple and stainless existence.
I am a well learned man,
Do not expose me to pretence.

The short story of my short life,
I will someday share.
With people who don't give a damn,
But read them as if they care.

The story would be real but not new,
The world has since ages known the same.
A man is perhaps born immoral,

But frailty never had another name.