Part Six
Sorry Love, for I can only praise your beauty in verse,
and shout your grace from this hearse.
And preach your beauty from this pulpit,
If its a sin to love then I am surely a culprit.
When all the words for your beauty are arranged,
Too busy to notice that my meter has probably changed.
There is some charm in gaining knowledge under street lights,
I write this poem without opening my eyes.
There I stood in the center of the universe,
That hallowed epicenter to which all the planes traverse,
my brother had scarcely turned eleven,
The candles that still do burn.
As some wondered if Goliath had finally fallen,
Terrorists are just revolutionaries who do not comprehend the pain.
The whole world was divided into others,
an impassable chasm separated the brothers,
no on accounted for the grieving mothers,
they are the first casualties of war.
Untold suffering aside,
it is an unforgettable sight.
The black grey smoke rising up to heaven,
Babel crumbling to dust in sight of Eden.
Everyone hoping his sins are forgiven,
Some would claim all Lucifers are risen.
To which direction do we want now driven?
What scheme he wants now proven?
The moment when God is officially disproven!
Taking the swan dive,
it is a flight to survive.
What thoughts flutter through his head?
as he stumbles towards his bed.
If I had not come to work this very day,
It had been happy with half the pay,
It I have decided to pray,
I would not have been His prey.
If I could have had some more rest,
If my heart could just be beating in my breast.
If I could see her one more time,
If I could tell her that she was mine,
If I had a couple of wings,
I would buy everyone a round of drinks.
If I could see a nightmare again,
Never again would I mind getting soaked in rain.
I would consume a healthy diet,
I would try and make everything right,
I would hold her in my arms,
Buy some land and build a farm.
Keep her close,
safe and warm.
While such thoughts do continue to flow,
he dies hoping he never feels the blow.
Comfortably singed in my furnace,
I am almost ready for consumption.
My thoughts are still raw.
Rhyme is a major flaw.
And the vacuum is incurable,
thinking harder won’t make it go away.
Pacing anxiously in my thoughts,
I lie mortified a dead log.
What asymmetry should I sing of now?
What sin do I confess now?
What do I think now?
Thinking is over rated.
And countless jingles explode in my head.
Which promptly compresses upon itself,
Inside my head is a black hole,
once where used to be a soul.
Token acknowledgement of my essential humanity.
Emotionally stunted, why feel?
I hope my ambitions would go achieve themselves.
I lie in bed in this prospect.
Heavy drooping eyelids,
erratic breathing,
stuttering pen,
unthinking smile
vaguely moronic books on my shelf.
Nauseating toxins in air,
no style in my hair,
the heat peels me away layer by layer,
as my thoughts carry me from here to there,
Plausible attractive paths at every turn.
what was the basis of any decision?
Some people just hail their cabs,
others spend their lives at intersections.
A couple prefer elegant travel by subway tunnels,
Why does one go anywhere?
What place is less revolting than here?
Our destinies are manufactured,
registered, trademarked
and sold back to us.
Every fact is a lie,
every truth is a construct.
Every system of propositions is indeterminate.
Where is your God now?
You see Gabriel, in actuality,
I am my own prisoner.
You are free, I think ironically.
can never be sure of meanings.
Is a lulzy contradiction an irony?
I think so.
Pigs exist and you don’t,
what greater affirmation,
the world is my illusion.
The world is a nightmare gone terribly wrong.
How do I wake up?
Going to sleep is waking up.
Everything means the opposite.
Nothing means the same.
Synonyms are the Devil’s Gift.
They can sufficiently wreck any tower,
in less than 54 translations.
Religion is just there to prevent cheating.
But afterlife is such a long fucking way away,
So we needed the fiction about money,
so that our honesty can be justly rewarded,
so that our labor is correctly repaid.
So that we do not cheat,
so that we toe the lines and
stay the fuck inside.
And civilization is the individual’s kryptonite.
Six billion workers diligently constructing termite hills.
This one is taller, see how it pierces the sky.
Don’t make me laugh, I know a pebble eight miles high.
Safe to assume that I am unimpressed.
where are the energy repeaters and warp drives?
Remind me why did we become civilized?
Asymmetrical Thoughts 