fickle-d by sight and too many rights

sleep with your alarm near you
for burning eyes will always be a shame
and when you yawn – a pair of eyes
will heckle your tiredness
your sight strides nervously
like those fake excuses of parenthood
that you thankfully never had to be a subject of

the grass is always greener on the other side
but it never grows and doesn’t die
while i keep on appreciating
my hatred per unit admiration
surmounts the little genuineness
that i once had

old enough to be nostalgic

of course i liked what
i used to write – about nights
shedding its stars for a day
(but oh, days!)
about freedom and peeling off
friends from my life
(but oh, freedom and friends!)
about parasitic wishes and
my grandfather’s dried out mind
(but oh, wishes and grandfather!)
about squeezing my skin out
of its shame and the obviousness
of nature being a wonder
(but oh, skin and nature!)
on a fifth thought i think
i still write about the
same things and even this i repeat
and it’s only fair that i do!
I have never used exclamations
in a poem before and i told you
that you had me all figured out
Oh, yes.
Always an almost.

flights of doubts

from one roof
to many roofs
light prances like
a deer – or rather a
deer prances like light,
i suppose?
all i know is that
it should be
continuous
maybe that’s why
someone’s winning
at a game and it
doesn’t matter
’cause most life-events
are gaps and i am often
the person who
looks through the
light balancing
itself in a gap
and am grateful for
being able to hear
people to the point
where i forget my name
and accidentally decide
to fall from the roof

detachment

from your knees
you look beautiful
but since the day you fell
on them, i have been sleeping a lot
i have been feeling a
little more scared of you
and it has slammed me with
a certain audacity
– a reason that carries
me away and towards –
i think it’s time
i lose some
and gain none
detach our orbits
revolve around a simpler
and better familiarity
find something
i don’t deserve
but have no one
around telling me
that i don’t

through restlessness

i take a scoop of the sky
and cover your eyes
a clear sight
makes me feel uneasy
so i presume it does
the same to you
see, i was trying to help you
that is why i took our
garden’s swing-set and wore it
around my thighs – because
out of mind should be out of sight
Do you see that building
across the street, winking at us?
I have tried walking to it
to shut both the windows with
our swing-set – because
out of sight should be made out of use
But every time i think
that i have to do it for you
my thoughts push the building
further away and i am lost
looking for you to console me
tell me that i approve of you
and that’s why you like me
tell me more of your mistakes
but you won’t – because
out of use should be out of prayers
yet you pray everyday, oh i have
seen you sit in that scoop of sky
that you now place in that pram you
once bought for me,
where you feign
admittance
you tell me that to let live
is the only way to live
Why don’t you tell me of what
wrongs you have done without
romanticizing the consequences?
Why don’t you talk less
about my face and more of
how you go that scar that
runs along your eyes?
Why don’t you tell me that
you no longer like reading books
because they make you think too much?
Why won’t you ever tell me that
you seldom compromised but to
observe a different result will have
me live according to your whims?

I would have listened to you
but now i don’t know what i
am capable of doing anymore
as long as i don’t have you
tell me the same
I have placed you so high
that i place everyone else
according to how you will have me
It’s the filth in my design
and the glory of you being
what grounds me to my filth
that’ll never have me move on
till the day i cannot move
It is that which makes me
the most gullible and
the most skeptical of people
It is that which makes you
think you accept but just because
you have ‘think’ about it
before providing it to others
makes you a person who does
not accept and never will
It is that which will make me
write the same verse everyday

I still look for those who will
speak more of their mistakes –
for no reason, i suppose; but such
dignified souls wouldn’t be
able to bear the sight of me

a morning

revenge of a tired mind
pictures breaking in
sounds of doors banging
into its frame
nine times in the last
five minutes and time
tries to play catch again
eyes moving like a hill
collecting its dirt anew
on pictures
breaking in
sounds of someone trying
to wake you up
but you don’t want to
wake up and disturb the
disorder sleep blesses
you with

my tired mind in one
of its prophecies whispered
to me that i am not there
’cause right now they
are not here but i am

it was white for a while

when your bones
strain against the
life you’re living
maybe it’s time to
make a parachute out of
your stress-bitten nails
stuck floating like boats
lost at the harbour of your
tea cup’s impression which
always leaves a stain on that
tablecloth embroidered by
your mother – and glide
past scabs being
constantly rekindled by
sardonic eyes

moving in circles might
not be stagnation but
it is an acceptance
which is more tiring
than giving up