I return to my unaffected neighborhood.
The success of my efforts to keep them ignorant
their narrow vision,
their inability to see me as I do,
their belief in me, the love they handout to me,
the children that look up at me-
making me feel smaller.
I have no option but to run
and once I start running there is no end to it,
there is nowhere I can stop.
Cause everything good in this world
reminds me of the unwanted anomaly I am.
Every dark emotion in face of others
becomes a part of mine.
Every day I barter with universe to keep me living,
borrowing time for this body,
one more light for myself.
One more body, one more happiness
(one more me) put to death
once I reach the dead end
that waits for me at the close of each day.
I have turned my face
from every confrontation
that I cannot tolerate.
I have stuck to my thoughts
and my denials.
I continue to agree with people
whom I find agreeable
and people who can help me think
that I am thinking right.
I have not learnt much in life.
And even when I realize my dubious nature,
I am not sure whether my efforts to improve
actually improve me
or are they just lessons to act better, pretend better,
to keep my immaturity bottled up.
But I do not mind such an arrangement
even if it is frustrating,
if only I could cushion this world
from the hatred I am capable of.
There was a wrong story
that we were born into.
There was world
of violence outside.
But in the room
made of unreasonable
and unreachable dreams-
there was music,
there was you,
there was me.
of being happy
in the life that ate us from within
and our ridiculous effort
to be everything that this life denies us.
There is nothing more confusing
than the love of people who
never really known you.
Who have always been caring
without being affected.
There is nothing more heart-breaking
than to doubt the intention
of people who actually take an effort.
There is nothing more difficult
to trust someone against the proof of experiences
for reason as small as a smile.
To be thankful, without being bitter.
Everything he was,
everything he did-
was a constant effort
to be true to the image
he had of himself.
He reminds me of struggle
to be someone else
while believing that he is
struggling to be himself.
I want to stay away from people,
who I once called friends,
(I think they never called me that)
and I have doubts on what I feel.
I am suffering from an unexplained aversion
to human relation and condition.
My efforts are spent
in avoiding people and small talks.
I spend my days
thinking, “What is wrong with me?’,
knowing that these feeling are weird
and still not finding something wrong
where there should be soomething wrong.
In the brief moments when I am reminded
of once dear faces,
I feel an ache,
a feeling that I have been let down,
I have been betrayed by everyone,
I have been wronged.
I am no longer myself.
I am somewhere where
I have lost sense of myself and others.
Even though you miss me,
even though you love me,
please don’t try to bring me back.
I never wish to wake up
to face this world
that always demands that I must dream.
And these dreams need to be big enough,
must require effort,
must involve sacrifice,
or at the least be tangible or materialistic.
And I feel something must be wrong with me
that the only thing I want
is to be everyday like this.
Where each day I don’t have to decide
But rather live today where I am
and be tomorrow where fate takes me.
I could never plan for the years to come.
I never knew I would live this long.