I hate those who flash smiles,
That perfect 32.
Making me feel inadequate - I smile sheepish. Conscious.
I despise those with gorgeous bodies,
Admired and desired by all.
While I try and hide these 'curves',
In yards of cloth.
I abhor flawless skin,
Smooth - reflecting character.
My own indented, coarse and ugly.
Hair like the night, captivating - chokes me
"feel mine!", I scream.
Sparse and cropped - jute like.
I writhe in pain.
But then -
I love eyes - expressive and reflecting clarity
And hands -
Which bear each one's detiny,
So different yet so similar.
And a peculiar abnormality - a crooked nose.
But then,
When I cant hear,
Cant speak,
Cant see -
How do I trust this perception I created in my head?
Im beautiful he says.
I feel it.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Sanity
Childhood.
I told them, I saw dead people around me.
"Child's imagination", and I was dismissed.
Adolescence.
The number of corpses grew.
"Television!", they blamed.
Adulthood.
I still see them.
"Asylum?", all heads nodded in unison.
The visits became irregular,
Scant,
And then stopped.
Nobody wanted to see or feel me around, insanity around.
It was limited to beautiful and perfect.
As I sit here, with a vacant set of people -
I no longer see dead.
I feel weightless.
Elated with my own discovery.
I was never crazy,
And no one realized - It was them I always saw.
I told them, I saw dead people around me.
"Child's imagination", and I was dismissed.
Adolescence.
The number of corpses grew.
"Television!", they blamed.
Adulthood.
I still see them.
"Asylum?", all heads nodded in unison.
The visits became irregular,
Scant,
And then stopped.
Nobody wanted to see or feel me around, insanity around.
It was limited to beautiful and perfect.
As I sit here, with a vacant set of people -
I no longer see dead.
I feel weightless.
Elated with my own discovery.
I was never crazy,
And no one realized - It was them I always saw.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
ME
I look at myself in the mirror,
With sometimes open. Sometimes squinting. Sometimes closed eyes.
Thinking of the metaphysical: What is life versus What is to be alive?
Pensive:
What am I?
Who am I?
Fearful:
What have I done?
What will happen?
What will they say?
Worldly:
Future?
Theatrical:
Why?
Real:
What I see - Me
With sometimes open. Sometimes squinting. Sometimes closed eyes.
Thinking of the metaphysical: What is life versus What is to be alive?
Pensive:
What am I?
Who am I?
Fearful:
What have I done?
What will happen?
What will they say?
Worldly:
Future?
Theatrical:
Why?
Real:
What I see - Me
One Revolution
When I was born, Im told
The sun shone brightly,
And families were ecstatic.
Don't remember anything till I was three.
I know - I never cried.
Aunts, uncles, neighbours would obsess,
happy to see a healthy, active child
Growing steadily.
I know - I never fell ill.
Parents were always with me,
After all, I was helpful, truthful, intelligent.
Teachers praised me. Friends adored me.
I know - I never spoke much.
I never had any addictions,
Was never convicted.
Had never been kissed.
I know - I was never popular.
I got married, had children.
Employers were happy - I worked hard.
Co-workers were pleased - I was never a threat.
I was a good partner, and a dutiful parent.
I know - I did a good job.
I am old now, wishing -
I had cried.
Fallen Ill.
Spoken more.
Been popular.
Had to my credit - more than 'just a job'
Maybe, maybe then I would not have been so alone
The sun shone brightly,
And families were ecstatic.
Don't remember anything till I was three.
I know - I never cried.
Aunts, uncles, neighbours would obsess,
happy to see a healthy, active child
Growing steadily.
I know - I never fell ill.
Parents were always with me,
After all, I was helpful, truthful, intelligent.
Teachers praised me. Friends adored me.
I know - I never spoke much.
I never had any addictions,
Was never convicted.
Had never been kissed.
I know - I was never popular.
I got married, had children.
Employers were happy - I worked hard.
Co-workers were pleased - I was never a threat.
I was a good partner, and a dutiful parent.
I know - I did a good job.
I am old now, wishing -
I had cried.
Fallen Ill.
Spoken more.
Been popular.
Had to my credit - more than 'just a job'
Maybe, maybe then I would not have been so alone
Numbers
Math always seemed complicatd.
Some said I had a metal block -
Probably, I was never built to solve problems.
Whenever I dabbled with numbers,
they joined and became beautiful patterns.
Geometric. Angular. Bold.
And then, did a brief jig in front of my eyes.
I did have fun,
Msuic, dance, numbers and me.
Two plus two was never four.
It could be more. It could be less.
Why stick to age old computations
when the answers would continue to be complex in itself.
So, I surround myself with numbers,
Life no longer binary.
And all my reports bear red in ath.
Get turned out of all my classes.
"Problem Child!", most say
I smile. If only they knew.
Some said I had a metal block -
Probably, I was never built to solve problems.
Whenever I dabbled with numbers,
they joined and became beautiful patterns.
Geometric. Angular. Bold.
And then, did a brief jig in front of my eyes.
I did have fun,
Msuic, dance, numbers and me.
Two plus two was never four.
It could be more. It could be less.
Why stick to age old computations
when the answers would continue to be complex in itself.
So, I surround myself with numbers,
Life no longer binary.
And all my reports bear red in ath.
Get turned out of all my classes.
"Problem Child!", most say
I smile. If only they knew.
I Saw, was Conquered and Defeated
People often laughed,
When they read what I had to say.
At my arbid thoughts,
the asymmetry,
non-rythmic patterns.
Of being - 'too conversational'.
Sometimes even gruesome and morbid.
I was young then -
With undaunted talent,
and a soul which absorbed.
Owing to my inexperience, I swore and spat -
Ears burning and eyes smarting.
I lashed out, angry at their inability to understand,
and mine to make them.
"I am the poet!", I screamed and cursed at them
for having given in - all lapse of reason and question.
Blind acceptance.
And then -
I grew older and calmed down.
I now write about,
Beauty and goodness.
I sell. People love me.
Those same people.
I accepted defeat, and 'I am still the poet',
Whose soul is dead.
When they read what I had to say.
At my arbid thoughts,
the asymmetry,
non-rythmic patterns.
Of being - 'too conversational'.
Sometimes even gruesome and morbid.
I was young then -
With undaunted talent,
and a soul which absorbed.
Owing to my inexperience, I swore and spat -
Ears burning and eyes smarting.
I lashed out, angry at their inability to understand,
and mine to make them.
"I am the poet!", I screamed and cursed at them
for having given in - all lapse of reason and question.
Blind acceptance.
And then -
I grew older and calmed down.
I now write about,
Beauty and goodness.
I sell. People love me.
Those same people.
I accepted defeat, and 'I am still the poet',
Whose soul is dead.
The Idealist versus the Realist
I dream -
To live,
To be a good person,
Forget the past,
To have babies - lots of them.
I know -
I will live - in guilt.
Be a good person - somehow always in question.
Will forget my past - already having internalized it.
Have babies - all born dead.
To live,
To be a good person,
Forget the past,
To have babies - lots of them.
I know -
I will live - in guilt.
Be a good person - somehow always in question.
Will forget my past - already having internalized it.
Have babies - all born dead.
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