Mother dear gets disquiet
as days and weeks-
i spend
stacking up the isolation.
So she takes me
to these swarm hole..
twice in a month now
to relish the social ..
Last time,
it tasted like rotten eggs
and this time
It smells already
decomposing meat.

“Join these Girls..same age as yours.” They say.

I give my best fraught grin
and abscond to the garden..
hours and hours..
spend there whispering to the blossoms
and hearing the wind breathe
and counting the bugs instead

But again what would i do together?
I hate shoppingmalls and movie theatres and fancy places..
I don’t even own a fucking tv
I am a menace to the latest trend
And they are..
to my rapacious and materialism shit.
They find my philosophical talk boring..
My music noisy.
And It is sad..
I don’t know what’s more sadder .
If it’s the 5000 painting tag
on those preety pretty faces
Or if it’s the frantic in me
When they hand over a liquid eyeliner..
I don’t even know how to apply em’ properly.

lots of things make me sad..
Like wet dogs
on the street
On rainy days
Or bunch of street kids
on Dendrites
On normal days

Like seeing that same costermonger everyday
On hot summer days..
flicking away the flies
With hope
of customers to stop by :
While a toiled mazdoor,
slipped into dirt emmerges
and devours a slice
with all his heart in lieu
with almost half of his wages
Yet the level of satisfaction i behold in those eyes –
which never did i ever discerned
among those man behind suits
On weekends
In expensive cars
Luxurious places..
Or those same people I witness
On working days
On same micro
with different number plates
all carrying bag of some sort
obese and laden
Some..with tifffin boxes
that their wife must have packed
Earning is hard
Surviving here is more..

Like seeing that same senile granny
gray-haired and crinkly
taking breather
On the outer stairs
On winter days..
soaking her last energy to the sun
Or absorbing life itself
And within those familiar eyes..
Fear seems almost grabbable..
almost like being grabbed by
them nervous breakdown on midways,
When you get engulfed by
Greyer thickness
Of existance..
Much dustier
than the unfinished road construction.
Or the recklessness on halfways
When the aroma of death
Lurks you,
Much stinker..
than the odour as you pass by those bridges.

Myan even the purple trees make me sad
It reminds me of the roads
Now i can never walk
On the fallen jacaranda
On spring days..

Someone told me ,
“you just dont have to be so unbolt
to the world thee see
all it gives you In return is pain.
Maybe. Might be
But When reading mind
And subtleness becomes
all but a curse,
one ends up being a wide book itself
splayed out..
Flipping pages
Skipping numbers
pause and back and break
useless flipping
wherever the zephyr roars.

Perhaps ,
I have become a book so ajar
scrawled all over
on desolated pages
with indiscernible words
sensible yet absurd
the unforeseeable patent
inscribing forever..
making it beyond’s one to read.

They ask me if i am Antisocial .
I wonder..

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s