26. You die, that’s it. You stop existing.

The idea of life after death

is like 

an addict

who keeps smoking

until the roach of the joint

is on fire.

He can see the flames dying

and the ashes falling down

but he clings on in hope

it might keep burning

just to get that last high of it.

Life is like a joint

our bodies the roach

some are rolled good

some bad

each with their highs

and lows.

But the joint ends

at the end of the roach

and our legacies remembered

for as long as our highs last

fading with time.

You can either be an addict

and keep clinging on the only joint you have
or
enjoy the trip

or

maybe

write a poem or something

you know.

Advertisements

18. Poems that never existed

He was a depressed man

in his mid-twenties

worked ten hours a day

lived alone, far from his family.

In his lonely room

he read some books

he wrote some poems

not many,

eighty to hundred maybe

concealed in a black notebook.

One day he died in an accident

his parents took his body home

the notebook was burnt

along with his body

All his poems

faded out of existence

along with him.

14. Monsters 

My ten year old sister
was afraid of a monster
living in her closet
There is no such thing, 
i lied
and kissed her good night. 


The monsters don’t live in closets, 
No more.

(
We who live in air conditioned rooms
cabinets full of costumes and perfumes
just living the dream
while the bombs keep falling
somewhere
a mother weeps and children scream
families fleeing from their homes
with no where to sleep.

We who are full of self obsession 
hypnotised to our phones and television 
millions in currency stored
while poverty keeps killing 
millions
people begging to the lord
killing each other
for a one time meal.

We who don’t care about the planet
the only home we have
We who put our faith first 
when we all are humans
)

We are the monsters.

 

1. Flashback

Death might come anytime
It’s not death i fear

The idea of not existing

Is what makes me shiver

All my memories

and thoughts. 

Gone. 

(

The face of my mother

The first day of school 

The first kiss

Freedom

The company of friends 

The night sky

The books i read

The questions i had

The answers i had

Gone. 
Of this grand cosmos

in a tiny speck. 

I exist.