Pier

I just want to sit on a bench by a pier.
Staring at the harbour, with a coffee cup in my hand.
And maybe a notebook on my lap.

The stale air from these walls have suffocated my clarity
& I can sense creativity rustling,
blowing away like early autumn leaves

The tongue is mightier than the sword. More so than the pen. Bless the man who found this phrase. I don't know why it is easy to hurt the people we love most. Is it love, if we are capable of hurt? Knowing pain from love is sadomasochistic. Not the physical kind...the emotional ones. Is it still sadomasochism?

But rationalizing hurt and dissonances towards clarity is a form of progress...right? Am I anywhere near there, because I can't tell.

Misused lines. Repeated. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat-
Scratched like a sound only to tear more pieces of our insides each time.
When will I learn to vomit the lines infested with ego and selfishness out of my system.

Self-loathing is something I despise.
But it is something I can't get a grip on.

Stung by a bee,
Still smelling flowers.

:)

Fate is a four-letter word with so much confusion, resistance and recognition attached to it.

Inheritance

No matter how the coldness seeps,
the droplets of dew refuse to intertwine

& how the mist obscures,

to shelter and cloak the sheepish sun
As if to resist
In a world of resent.

There poised a metropolitan; 

Majestic, and alive

Its heart beats from rhythms of feet

that race to respond 

to the call for progress

But in these fingertips lay traces of green,

The decay in my hands

Left waste from the shadows of luxury
Pretentious concrete disguised as soil
Compounded to replace where I stand

in ruins are the jungles-

the realm of my world,

& inheritance from ancestors

In the pursuit of prosper

I forget the soil
& humility of this earth
that I inherit for mere mortal time
I forget where I stand

like no other; sunday

Fall winds lull, but the summer sun still shines. I am in my cream faux-leather jacket and favorite brown flats. Dressed in complete irony. Waiting-

it's a Sunday morning where I'd usually long to stay in bed;

with softened Sunday eyes hidden under my five-bucks sunglasses
I waited for the ever occasional bus to arrive. 

It was late,

but I didn't mind.

I've got a head full of conviction for Monday

& my heart is humming sweet tunes of cool.

September 2014

A battle with the shadows, is what self disappointment really is.
But I keep telling myself, that if there is a shadow, then there must be light.
Whatever happens tomorrow, I know I've tried my best.
But God knows best.