Unemployed
poet
of a city
begging
for a job
it wasn’t
his desire
but desire
shifted
hardened
became
a compelling
factor
his words
became hope
and his heart
became a bowl
-
-
I asked the poet inside me
if he could stop writing
he said yes
and he did
for days
months
years
no trace of him
he forgot who he was
I had only asked
he did not argue
did not defend
did not resist
just stopped
there
like ink inside a pen
making a pact
never to reach the nib
frozen
like his thoughts
years later
I asked again
can you revive the pen
bring back the thoughts
forgive me
he did
with a smile
no words
no complaint
no memory of hurt
this time
he filled an ocean into his pen
and wrote
in tides
in waves
there was always a poet in him
one I had kept confined
when I invited him back
he did not hesitate
he entered my heart
and stayed
as a song
-
Some people…
carry butter on their tongue
always soft
always salty
like they’ve swallowed
the entire ocean…
and filtered its salt
and kept some of it
right here
to sprinkle
into conversations
that feel… bland
And me?
Sometimes…
I slip
on the butter
they spread
along my way
But still
I stand
I stand back on my feet
trying to understand
what do they want from me
Because I can’t complain
about the smell
I can’t speak back
in my own way
The spread becomes so thick…
so strong…
that even resistance
starts to melt
and somehow…
it softens
the soul
-
My heart was not a parking lot.
Still, they came.
They left their storms in me
and walked away quiet.
I stayed
holding what wasn’t mine.
When I tried to follow,
to feel even a piece of it
engines turned.
doors closed.
gone.
I had no price.
no barrier.
just space.
and still
no one stayed.
-
Only if…
my body could float like a balloon…
I swear
I wouldn’t rush the sky.
I would look down…
at the quiet geometry of roads,
the smallness of worries,
the way people forget
how to look up.
And before I pop
oh, before I disappear
I would feel everything.
Maybe…
it won’t be the air pressure.
Maybe
it’ll be the birds.
Sharp beaks.
Sudden endings.
Like people
who cannot stand
to see you flying higher
than their fears.
And inside me….
helium.
Not just gas
memories.
Laughter.
Fragments.
Unfinished sentences.
And when I burst
they burst too.
What remains of me
might fall…
somewhere unreachable.
A rooftop.
An ocean.
A place where meaning
doesn’t survive.
Or maybe
someone finds me.
And I’m no longer… me.
Just material.
Repurposed.
Framed.
Hung on a wall
like love that once lived,
now remembered
instead of felt.
I don’t want to poison the waters…
I don’t want
my falling
to become
someone else’s ending.
A creature
innocent
mistaking me for survival.
If it lives…
I hope someone notices in time.
Before I become
a silent mistake
inside a living body.
But what if I rise higher?
Higher…
than fear,
than memory,
than gravity itself.
And I get caught
branches.
Thorns.
Reality.
And still…
what a beautiful ending it would be
to fall
on a rose.
To breathe in fragrance
with my last stretch of air…
To rest
finally
on something
that knows how to bloom
and bleed
at the same time.
The wind…
will take me again.
It always does.
No address.
No destination.
Just… movement.
Nowhere.
I feel it now…
this strange lightness.
This hollow…
that doesn’t hurt.
Maybe we are all balloons.
Filled with invisible rebellions.
Floating thoughts.
Quiet defiance.
We rise
not because we are strong…
but because
something inside us
refuses
to stay grounded.
And all we really want is
to reach
somewhere beautiful…
before we pop.
-
The suffering…
we carry….
comes from
the “I”.
So maybe…
let’s not introduce ourselves
with “I”.
“I”…
detonates your peace.
And then—
in fragments…
you go searching for bliss.
All the dissatisfaction.
All those miseries.
“I”.
“I”… triggers the craving
for another “I”.
And “I”…
keeps multiplying…
until patience—
is gone.
Your “I”.
My “I”.
Both…
begging for something.
But what does “I” even hold?
Just the futility
of the world’s treasure.
This “I”…
craves pleasure.
This “I”…
so selfish.
So small.
Pathetic… “I”.
Open your eyes…
How distant…
you’ve become…
with your own “I”.
Your “I” is just dust—
not even the storm…
just dust
in a multiverse
that doesn’t even notice you.
Tell me
with what “I”…
does freedom hug you?
With what “I”…
do your emotions…
keep biting you?
You are already…
plugged into infinity.
And still…
your “I” wanders…
for things
that are already decaying.
Don’t turn life
into heartless humour.
Don’t spread
baseless rumour…
all because of “I”.
The divine…
made a quiet pact
with your “I”.
So your “I”…
and my “I”…
will…
fade.
Not with noise…
not with fear…
but like a drop…
returning…
to the ocean.
-
When I knew
Lady Gaga was my elder sister
born on the same day as me,
I went through her playlist again,
listened to Poker Face
ogled my joker face
in front of the mirror,
then when I heard Bad Romance
I remembered the good romance,
the hidden glance,
the silent chance
I never took in advance.
When I felt low,
gloomy and upset,
when I regretted not taking a chance,
I forgot it all,
played Just Dance
shook my body in a trance,
like a farmer shaking an apple tree,
till something fell on me
oh sweet gravity
I pump myself in
low tides,
low hopes,
lonely nights,
when shadows rise
and dim the lights,
I thought of ending my life,
cut by the world’s quiet knife.
I cried,
face covered with a blanket tight,
then played Million Reasons at night,
and let my heart take flight,
like opening a cage
packed with pigeons in fright.
Today is my birthday,
like always, I will try
to spread a smile,
no matter how or why,
won’t let my innocence die,
won’t let it be snatched away
I don’t even know what to say……
I was born this way.
-
I don’t only carry my tears,
I also carry yours,
along with mine.
That’s the reason I cry so much
so that you wouldn’t have to drop
even a single drop of tear.
A single drop of tear…
a single drop of tear.
And he started crying again.
-
Most people don’t understand
that everybody needs love
some time to relax
and think
can’t expect them to reach the other side of the shore
in a blink
with a wink
most people don’t understand
that everybody needs time
can’t operate the mind of a human like a machine
and make them obey like a programmed robot
there won’t be anyone to pick
with one click
oh I get sick
to do list to tick
can’t smile like a clown
and do some kind of magic trick
Most people don’t understand
that everybody has got a heart
and it hurts
really hurts
when they throw a pointy dart at us
just to score a point
gratifying their desire
their pride
we need space to explore
not a wall to hide
Most people don’t understand
that life is not granted
nature provided us
more than we ever demanded
hymns of love will reverberate
if kindness and compassion are chanted
how can we destroy our planet
that keeps our soul enchanted
Most people don’t understand
what I understand
and I don’t understand
what most people understand
so it’s alright
we will understand each other one day
and there will be no misunderstanding
no conflict
no war
only love
only peace
I hope you understand
what I mean
-
Most schools don’t teach
the art of making money,
they only teach
how to get paid.
Most of your friends don’t teach
the art of finding true love in life,
they only teach
how to get laid.
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