They warned me
love doesn’t last
dear god please
help me then
for I have failed
fallen into bed
with fierce love
charging through
surging passion
sucking the sleep
from dreary eyes
seeking past sockets
searching my soul
keeping me alive
with gushing thoughts
and a pulsing heart
but when day breaks
and eyes crack open
that flame’ll be gone
shame though’ll stay
my book’ll be strewn
and I’ll be screwed
’tis a burden, a curse
to have fallen in love
with words enthralling.
Tag: postaday
Talk About Health
They say it’s unhealthy
if you eat too healthy
but what am I to do
when everything I do
makes me fat as a cat
stuffed inside a hat
but what am I to do
there’s so much ado
apples, pears are body shapes
kale and fads, women of shams
it’s all just a scam
all I want is some ham
to stuff in my fancy bread
that’s all grain, oat, and dread
Oh, what’s the point of dieting
If it’s about hiding your craving?
Peeping Through
It was one of the best days of my life. I had crossed the border and into Nepal. I took off alone to explore while my team devoured on souvenirs in the shopping zone.
It was a cold evening, and I was all covered up in a sweater and heavy boots. As I went on, I came across a Hannuman temple. It looked rich, golden, and deserted. I wasn’t sure if I could go in, so I lingered walking around the vicinity taking photos.
The temple was guarded by a huge metal gate, walking to it, I saw a narrow opening through which I saw Hanuman standing in all glory.
Understanding Metamorphosis
I’m not sure what brought it up, but a colleague mentioned Franz Kafka wrote the saddest stories ever. A pathos fan myself, my interest was piqued. My colleague recommended and lent me the ebook version of Metamorphosis, a supposed stunner.
It was a small book, and I managed to tolerate reading it on a screen. I finished it last night and gave it a two-star rating on Goodreads. And then I scrolled through reviews to see what other readers had said thought about the book. I was stunned; a lot of people had given four or five stars, and words like “wonderful,” “amazing,” “deep,” and “emotional” jumped out at me.
I scratched my head. Huh?
It was as if they had read a different book altogether. I wondered if my copy had been just the preface, and if there was more to the tale than I had read.
I had expected dramatic change, something that would topple the lives of all the characters. I know all that did happen, still, it was too matter-of-fact, like.
It’s not that I didn’t like the story, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was well written, sure. It had an uncanny plot, yes. And an unconventional ending. But other than that, I didn’t feel the sadness ebbing from the words, I wasn’t moved to tears, my eyes didn’t burn, my nose didn’t stream, and my neck didn’t hurt from crouching.
It was a good story with a beautiful narrative. It wasn’t gripping or as sad as I had hoped. Nevertheless, the comments on Goodreads unsettles me. I feel almost inhuman not seeing what’s so intriguing about the book.
Have you read Metamorphosis? Pray tell, what did I miss?
What’s the Point of Working…*
*…if money were no object?
I don’t think there’s any point in working if money were out of the equation. If we all had abundant food and full-time entertainment, we wouldn’t need anything else. We wouldn’t have to work at all, we could fool around and have a ball, even.
Some say, if money were no object, we’d have a fuller life. That we’d do more of what we loved, of what made us happy. That we’d follow our passions.
But is it so?
There’d be no point in waking up to a blaring alarm, fighting an urge to snooze, or ignoring the top palate while brushing.
There’d be no point in rushing out of the house, or remembering you hadn’t locked the door after you’d walked down two flights of stairs.
There’d be no point in clocking in 2 minutes before the penalty time, or skipping lunch to write a poem, or staying late to discuss the ANUS that had fallen to an all-time low.
If money were not an object, there’d be no point at all in getting out of bed every day. There’d be no traffic, no blaring horns, and no headlights blinding you when you walk home after a long day at the office.
If not for want of money, we’d have no reason to listen to the boss lecturing, or tolerate water cooler gossip. There’d be no dinner dates with attractive sales reps or compulsive flirting with the blond receptionist.
If we didn’t get up, suck up and go to work, we’d be at home on our couch, nibbling on potato chips, thinking about making art, talking about zen, and adding weight to the planet.
No, we wouldn’t follow our dreams, we wouldn’t even dream.
The Chaos Within 