Dreading Accolades

You can not coerced someone to do
something you like and say it’s a heroic.
You watched, you appreciated it and you forgot.
But does he ever really forgives himself?
He presents himself, acquaints himself with cheerfulness
accompanied by new and old admirers.
But have we ever computed the vitality of his spirits?
And what about us, are we promisingly fortunate ones?
Its time to learn our place, cause when lights go off
we cannot stand strong, with our own sword
pointing its needle on our own feet.
We always wait for ending as if we know it
by heart or before handedly.
But when you are at war everyone of us is defenseless
just remember that and also any form of accolades
of the aftermath means nothing.

Essayed Broth

What would you do for your broth?
The answer would be nothing.
And its true.
Who would care about broth when
the fashion is directing its needle to something else.
There are lot of options that caters my emptiness.
But is there something that can be done,
for something other than peaceful contemporary option.
People, listen we need arguments for my bubbles.
I need items for my new diversion.
Its not escapism its mitigation for my new fading addiction.
I want constituents that are strong not only for my taste buds
but for my inner soul too.
I am looking for resources
cause I want asylum for my own wavering thoughts,
a place where I don’t need any start over.
Its been there existing since many century long.
It might sound, it has existed because it was the only thought
that people believed, it to be true.
Whatever reason could be,
all I know is that,
it is vigorously imperishable.
Changing season has no effect on it,
eventhough ingredients seems little different
in different parts of the year.
So the new thick nutritiously active fluid
is all I need instead of all those takeaway
which lack nourishment for my well being.

The Curb

I whispered under your breath,
hoping you wouldn’t hear it
and thankfully you didn’t.
But you want those words to be reached
and be champion of your vault
Your face came near to mine
and I said “Off you go brother
blood and mines are two different things,
one can serve for another
but one can’t feel fulfilled governing each other.”

The Only Victory at the Masquerade

In that gracious chamber
I undertook my first step towards my mission,
infiltrating the imitation,
hidden behind my beautiful mask,
walking tall
guarded by my affinity,
I blended among those shining shoes
uneaten by my own disbelief.
I swallowed my perturbation
with a series of a simple handshakes with my combatants
even though standard greeting was to
get embosomed into one another
as if world was about to get stormed and left into nothing
in those exquisite fineries.
But I am the only one who knows the truth.
What others knew were just their restrained appetites,
I have one too, but mine hunger differ from coloured audacities.
Shimmering lights and black jackets stiffened me to some seconds
but in the end ethanol took best of them, with little help of mine grandeur.
Everyone failed their capacity though chivalry was ascendancy of the gala
but I was the only one who fulfilled my well designed hankerings.

Are We?

Are we burrowing the same spaces

at different paces.

Are we smuggling that numbness

with tears resulting from our shameless scornfulness.

Are we swallowing pride and perjury

to comfort our injury.

Are we smothering our dreams

just to put off others realm?


Don’t stare alright,
just don’t do it.
You have shared your part,
now, just be gone.
Things do get entwined,
they do and I know.
But that doesn’t mean
routes cant be changed.
Just like you did
and now its my turn,
to be me.

A Bit Whiner but the Mirror

Yes, I am a suffocator,
the crack, who devours you up.
To whom you went for some caters,
when you avoid settling for a runner-up.

Yes, now the she-devil,
the crumble aid, for all those sinking hearts.
To whom you begged but to no avail,
cause mine too were broken parts by parts.

Growing Whiskers of Temporal

Peaches and plum
with shades of stigmatized forlorn,
still comes with power of dawn.

Magic and brew
can’t even match the intensities of glue,
a deaden’s song, gives you a sprew.

Heartaches and vermouth
once an incorporeal moth
now enigmatically smooth.

Pain and gain
soaked in blain, derailed mortified terrain,
marches the ethereal regal to annul its dub “the barren”.

Thin but Thick

Seemed so inarguably thin,
but the truth was annoyingly thick,
time and again, my ear hears the sound of my writhing
bones which you smashed with one of your bricks.
Yet world finds its smooth,
and barks at me saying its a conjuring trick,
unable to see because of my bitter youth.
Now, I’m just waiting for the “click”,
not trying to be kind of impertinent,
but endeavoring my longed pleasant venture.
No, not some clever ruse just being determinant
of my own merriment without any more vultures.