Bitter are the words we use
When we admit
That we love someone
Ashamed accents
Thought of surrender
In these times
Such a sin
We prefer our pickled existence
Swimming in vinegar
So much more focused a job
(Energetic, complicated)
Than lying in a beloved’s arms
Engrossed in therapeutic naked confessionals
For if we all healed ourselves
What would the shrinks of the Upper East Side do?
Who would fill up office spaces with pleather?
Why would anyone care about anybody else’s business?
When the only juice that matters
Is the one between you and me
Religion, tenets, isms, hyperbole
Would be flushed down the toilet bowl
In God’s master bathroom
Where would the world be then
As we know it today?
Corridors we rushed through
Would bear silent homage
To unheard footsteps
Elevators which shot us up
To our corporate images
Saturated with cast-off pin-stripes
Sophistication we lived by
Blown away
In the smoke you & I create
There may occur
Oneness
Would I then
Care about the muscular strength of your ideas?
When the whole world has gone
Hare Rama Hare Krishna
And would you love
My vulnerability?
When it can be bought in tepid bucket-loads
At your nearest, friendly, drug store
Would anyone be tranquil?
If that was the way the world swayed?
Necessary becomes chaos
To have pockets of peace
Even if lined with lint
And overwhelmed
By the mothballed odor of preservation
Seldom used
Unless in
Nervousness
Or
Betrayal
Et tu Brutus?
Then…
Caesar ceases to think
Only lives on as a legend
Manifested through hardcore marketing
And a parasitic estate
Which refuses to go hungry
By letting a dead man die
But I am still alive
Feel me
Still breathing
I am not the 10
Contrived out of myth
Just a catastrophe
Molded so
By other accidents
Often forgetting
There is more to me
Until you remind me
And I get lost
In the nutrasweet of your liquid voice
To wake-up again
Translucent stains
The only proof that you were here…
Stumbling through a somnambulist’s haze
I enter His bathroom
To purge
Rationalize
My life force
Drains away
In a weightless sound
Which only You can hear
But refuse to
For We both know
I am a compulsive screamer
Hayaah said,
April 4, 2009 at 06:44
yeah… i know what u mean abt the dam bursting again…
I had started dabbling sometime in ‘99 I think when I was in college, and then when I compiled them all on the blog recently, I realised, that between 2001 and 2006, I did not write squat! But then I started again, ever increasingly so.
Ive a feeling when I feel settled and happy from the inside, I dont care to write at all… atleast thats the logic I use for the 4 yrs when I did not need to write…
Anyhoo… sorry for that woebegone rambling
Keep writing, keep sharing… I love reading ur style!
xxx
deuceexmachina said,
April 2, 2009 at 20:42
C, this is an edited/updated version of an old old old poem, but perhaps the first thing of value i ever wrote. The purge has been a long time coming though
Hayaah, I had shared this poem on ’seeb eons ago, its one of my first journals, but eh….i don’t take that forum seriously. And I guess this is yet another instance of not judging a book by its cover. Waise truth is, I stopped writing in the middle, the dam just burst, again!
Sami, *MUAH* i’ll try
samirakhanhadi said,
April 2, 2009 at 17:36
that was incredible! more more!
Hayaah said,
March 31, 2009 at 07:05
I am stunned! =|
I cant believe that u’ve never shared this absolutely gripping side of u on the site where we met! (ok perhaps that sounds a wee risque:P)
needless to add, I loved it… graphic images ran thru my mind with each line, each stanza, each emotion played…
ccarrera said,
March 25, 2009 at 15:43
Do keep writing….with each syllable you purge yourself , of what holds you back.
Get on with it, write, Write, WRITE.
deuceexmachina said,
March 12, 2009 at 14:38
oh snap Sarah, guilty as charged.
You know at one point i wanted to call this “Crying Wolf’, but then I thought, tres obvious, n’est pas?
sarah083 said,
March 12, 2009 at 09:15
“i am a compulsive screamer”…
oh yea..the words resonated again and again…