I don’t want to count the stars,

And wonder at those glistening points

Nor wander through the untouched thicket, Pffft!

Who has time for all this!


I don’t ask for much. Never have.

There is

Simply not enough time, nor patience

For self is the centre of it all.

Minutes fall around me, hours roll

Away, like pebbles

From the hands of a child

But do I dare whimper? Or shed a tear?


Thick skin as they say, like cow hide

Beaten down, so many times

I hardly feel the pain.


Those you love the most are the ones who enjoy watching you bleed. And

sometimes you need to ask yourself

Have all that love been in vain?

Hours roll, unfeeling, just as years have rolled before them

With the heaviness of machines, well oiled

Tired eyes, tired heart, spent and alone watch on


Where did it begin?

Where to end? Should it end? Questions

Those painful hooks, tear into the flesh

I don’t wear white, for it shows off the red

Of a wounded bleeding skin.

Haven’t you heard?

Simplicity is the hardest thing.

Less is more, more is less

Who makes these rules, where do they bend?

Can they bend?

Questions. They know

No answers. Life

Is such, as we constantly tell ourselves.

But is it really so? Who makes these rules?

Where do they bend? Can they bend?

No one knows, does

Anyone care?


Would you still love a nameless pile of flesh?

Devoid of this skin, this name, this face

Would you still love me, devoid of these bones

Devoid of this frame that holds my shape

Would you still care? Would you still hold

My limp, lifeless stump of a hand?

Devoid of my family, the grounds from where I come

Would you still have me, devoid of my bank account?

Devoid of my words, these hands that could touch

Would you still think of me the way you once had?

Devoid of these eyes, these lips that speak your name

Would you still cherish the moments we had?

Devoid of this hair, these cloths, these nails

Devoid of this smile, would you love a shapeless mound of flesh?

A pumping heart, a tangled web of veins

A few scraggly teeth, would you love a nameless pile of meat?

Brackish brain matter submerged in thoughts of you

A whole mass of love and feelings that pulse for you

Would you still love this shapeless messy pile?

Would you still care for this nameless fleshy mound?

I thought not.

But It’s ok

We are all very human


A rain drop’s plea


Insides go numb. Sometimes

They burn.

Indifference flares the best of us sometimes

On a deserted land I stand, memories swim in the surrounding water

Fangs sharp, noses pointed

Seems like they’ve just smelt bait, defenseless, vulnerable.

Words fall on inattentive ears, drip away

Like rain drops on roof tiles

Losing their worth.

Dripping to the ground, down

The gutters, gushing out

In all their angst, pain


Why waste words?  Why lose respect?

I wonder.

It is a parched earth that truly values a drop of rain

I know

And yet, I make words rain

Voluntary exile? Humiliation?

Roof tiles keep rejecting and I

Long for soft, moist, welcoming ground

That used to be here,


To lay my head, rest the hurting limbs

Oh sweet, loving peace, to lay down and sleep.

That flicker of light

Sometimes all you need is just one tiny little thing to deliver you relief from the colossal weight that you are forced to carry around on your shoulder. When all hope’s gone and you are lost and alone in the middle of nowhere, the lost man knows how precious even the feeble flickering of a fire fly is to make his heart soar. Even if your entire life is one big dramatic tragedy beyond repair, even if everybody else is gritting their teeth to mold you in to their models of perfection, there should at least be one compassionate part in your life, one minuscule morsel that accepts you as you are, not having expectations that shall suppress your soul and draw tears from you instead of wiping them away. There should at least be one understanding, forgiving aspect of your life that welcomes you with open arms and a shoulder to cry on. If not, life gets unbearable. Sensitivity is a good thing, but it also makes you sting extra when times get rough.

I am grateful for what I’m capable of feeling. I cherish my heightened ability to feel, whether it be smell, touch, vision, sound or emotion because it takes one to new euphoric levels of conscience that you just didn’t know existed. It’s not easy when it comes to pain though. Just like the positivity is taken to euphoric heights by hypersensitivity, pain is taken to hellish, unfathomable depths which sometimes become too calamitous to the all too fragile a soul. But then, I do not mind pain. Pleasure exists because of pain. But that pain should always, always be recompensed I believe. The soul is a beautiful, delicate thing that runs the risk of being broken, which then shall turn in to the well-beaten deer hide that lies on your couch, incapable of feeling, numb to gentle caresses. And I do not want to become a deer hide by all means, however hard things may get at times. Like I always say, pleasure exists because of pain. And I want to be able to feel everything, in every sense of that beautiful word “feel”. I do not want to lose my pleasure. Nor my pain for that matter.

That feeble flicker of light is really all you need sometimes because it can raise you to unmeasurable heights in your darkest hours. Sometimes all you need is a kiss on the forehead, a warm gaze and a loving touch to assure you that there shall always be at least one person rooting for you even if the whole world boos you down when you come last in this huge rat race of stampeding hippos and trumpeting elephants. But then, I doubt the generosity or the practicality of anyone else putting aside their own hectic, life-draining races for a while and come cheer me on, but I still expect people to do so and get hurt when they don’t in all my naiveness. They are individuals too and I’m well aware of the fact that they all got their own races to run.

But then, if you care enough, you would stop your own race for a while, for somebody for whom you care for so very much and cheer them on, wouldn’t you? I know I have. And I still do. Call me stupid, call me naive, call me a romantic imbecile but I shall keep doing so too. I have always put my loved ones first, even before my own self. And this is no soap opera line. It’s the brutal, bleeding, hurting, stinging truth. But that’s another story.

I know I’m still too green to be strong and durable to brave all my hurdles with a dazzling, unaffected smile on my face, but at least I shall try, sobbing my way through the thorns that graze my still tender skin, bearing my red rose of hope and love. But I learn each passing day. At each scratch of skin, at each stab of knives, a rare and precious lesson shall be etched in blood in the much guarded parchments of my mind.

One of these days I shall learn to look within myself for answers, that much needed self-assurance that shall keep my head above the water without expecting others to throw lifebuoys to save my drowning self on those rare moments of panic and illusion, however rare they may be. I shall know better than to cry over the grazes on my skin and worry whether they shall leave permanent scars on my skin. One of these days I shall be hardy enough to combat my way through the piranha-invaded waters without a blemish but still manage to keep my heightened levels of sensitivity to feel all the good things in life.

Like I said, I’m learning. Still learning each passing day. And each lesson beckons a new era, a new age of self-sufficient contentment, disillusionment and emotional independence that shall set me free. Hopefully I shall receive the class prize for the best student this year, I know I’m making progress fast :)