I am tired of living but I dont want to die

I am tired of lust but I am too hurt to love

I am tired of crawling but I am too afraid to fly

I am tired of the past but I am too lazy to rise above

I am tired of this day but I am not ready for the night

I was tired of the dark but I am too shy for the light

I am tired of my courage and I am too bored forĀ  fright

I may be tired of writing but I still have left some fight



waiting for god or

it seems

half my life

has been spent

waiting for fools

and the other half

of my life

has been spent

waiting to be

fooled and schooled

in cunning and experience

from members of my species

who have longer legs

sharper heads

clearer eyes

than I have currently

as I sit

here waiting

spending one more precious

day of my life

fooling or be fooled

some more

some less


Fighting Neighbors

She was full of surprises

He was full of compromises

Till one surprise touched the sky

And he could not resist asking why

She told him to bugger off aloud

Like a dumb brown beggar in an Indian crowd

He took it like a gentleman on the chin

and went off sulking mumbling poetic complaints within

But they kept bumping into each other

For they lived across the same corner

Where once was smiles now were frowns

While people laughed at these egoist clowns

For hatred is alluring but costs too much

Friendship is a delusion at best as such

We are grown ups and we will never budge to say sorry

And live and die daily on another needless worry

Squander one more day on needless pride

Ego is a tiger beware the end of the ride

We think we are so clever and of course it was their fault

Our thoughts justify our behaviour without a halt

And upwards in the sky

the gods laugh while we cry

while we pretend we longer care

the proud peacock and the tiny reindeer

Walking Watching Writing

watching hungry tourists eat from cafes

lovestruck wanderers hold hands and deeply talk

curious explorers drink the culture

while I amble idly and take my daily walk

hunger and joy and hope and satisfaction

all smell the same and smirk in similar twangs

though the color of the skin and cupbearer

changes as per the seasonal and the budget pangs

tatoos and signs and tshirts herald omens

of my incoming insanity and bygone pain

while everyone rushes from task to task

I watch them and jot down another poem again