Meow Kampf

algorithms and data consume my days

poetry and food consume my nights

in between I walk long miles

in between I fake small smiles

I seek and query I help you decide

I make assumptions but for a while

Then I wipe the slate clean and begin again

I keep doing this in a loop infinite for gain

I like it like this and I like it slow

I like to be alone and alone I must know

Sometimes I pretend to be a social butterfly

But why pretend to tell when I know its a lie

I would rather read a book than talk to you

I would rather draw your portrait than say hullo

In case you cannot still understand

Well strange is life and strange is man

In this rambling and never ending verse

I count my blessings and ignore the curse

For what is life without a little give and take

And what is happiness without a little pretense and fake cat

That adorable guy

he comes into the empty apartment and turns on the light
he opens the windows to let in the air cold
and though his life is empty and so is his night
he thinks he is a winner though he is growing old

he wanders among the shiny people and through the happy lights
and though they look at him he stops not for a while
for he is done and through with these pretty sights
and he does not have the energy to create another fake smile

though his meter is wrong and his mistakes are plenty
he thinks he is a poet but he makes a living selling stone
and though he crossed into manhood seventeen years ago past twenty
he still cannot tear himself away from his shiny phone

he pops his vitamins and he does his yoga quiet
rolls the covers and lies down for the night
all too soon the sun is up with morning light
and he looks forward to the day and the people bright

Sitting in a cafe and listening to some soul

sitting in a cafe and I listen to some soul

hidden temporarily from the world outside cold

writing is my salvation and my only goal

my disposition is sadly neither courageous nor bold.

I reflect on the day and events gone by

I struggle with my fears and of course I try

I total up my losses and I have stopped asking why

Am I honest to myself or is this another lie.

I miss my family and I missed my friend

But I miss my writing the most and thats all in the end

For people come and people will go

But words once written wont change from coal to snow

Surrounded by technology and served by no one

I think I am an expert but I have barely begun

To chronicle these daily imagined pain

And sit in a cafe and listen to some music again


My friend Inga

my friend inga we met in goa long ago
danced and explored all along sunny goa shore
then for a years we lost touch
sure we tried but inga doesnt facebook much

till in a cafe today i saw
my friend inga eating cake and pizza
we met hugged and chatted on old times
inga reminded me i wrote poetic lines

it was a bit weird but it felt nice
to look up friends with new eyes
inga still has the pretty thin nose
she is east european, my buddy is a rose

we exchanged the phone number
we promised to whatsapp and to always remember
because that is what friends do
they meet and greet and hug and go

i owed inga a t shirt and a poem on her
you can see I am half done on the spur
the t shirt we shall someday have to see
to match a nose yet so pretty