Lost.

Yes I am just another lost person on the face of planet earth. 

The Difference? 
I know I am lost.

He:He

He saw himself standing at the crossroad again

Crossroads, they always keep him funny

When going home is no more a choice

When friendship is no more comforting

When things are necessarily not right 

Let’s make a drink for the Uptown boy

How come you always speak of scars and pains?

He is a pseudo, a drama maybe.

Who knows his biggest fear is pseudo itself?

From coffee, marijuana and the no battery sign

From talking and talking and talking

From broken hearts to broken bones

From adversaries to the unknown

From thirty seconds to eleven minutes

It’s not his story it’s really his own

Who says its devil? its maybe just evil

Falling down and digging graves

Only to find oneself at the mausoleum door

For those who died way too young

For those who left the loved ones

For those who were never born

For those who could never walk this earth

He ain’t no Saint Jimmy

For he lacks all the rage and the eyeliner

For he never walked across the road

For he never felt the cold.

Awkward-Silence

Sometimes they are just noises, sounds dangling in your ears, sounds that make no sense to you sounds that are so loud that you might just get a heartache out of them. It is strange how I am never part of these sounds how I am always at the receiving end sulking and waiting. Sometimes I see a rage in me a burning fire a rage that wants to cut across a passage right through these sirens and alarms and batteries and go to vacuum. Vacuum where I can hear myself sing where I can hear myself cry. Have you ever tried to derive sense out of the fracas, boom, wohoo, quack-quack, psh-psh-psh, mew, jug-jug? I think these sounds will be a mystery for me forever and always. They have this term called awkward silence I find it really hilarious. I mean what are they saying? Is it that the sounds have become so much a part of them that now they find silence awkward? I wonder what will be awkward in future full stops and commas? Sometimes I wish I was born mute or maybe what if the world was mute, NO SOUNDS. How sane that would have been? Alas! This world is not a movie and I ain’t no movie star. While writing this sitting in my class I was reminded of a few lines which I read in my school by Pablo Neruda from the poem keeping quite…

if we could do nothing for once,

perhaps a great silence would

interrupt this sadness,

this never understanding ourselves

and threatening ourselves with death,

perhaps the earth is teaching us

when everything seems to be dead

and then everything is alive.

Now I will count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I'll go.

How much hollow our lives are from the inside? How much are we hiding under the toe? How much of pain are we keeping below that beautiful speech?

Think about it

Now I will count to twelve

and you keep quiet and I'll go.