Things do not change; we change.
―Henry David Thoreau
We are like a blank slate filled with observation
And squeezing of lime. I don’t think I am, a Knight.
What is a life, a tale of an idiot and a tale of an idiot is a life.
Without music, life is a mistake and also with it too.
To write is to read. To see or believe, that’s the question.
Regret is fate at any rate. What a filthy creature is a man!
How nude, how jarring! how crazy!
And yet to me an abominable animal!
One is not born but rather becomes an animal.
There is an easy way to Mars, ask Musk. Every man is a data
of his age, which is sold to DATA giants.
You have power with a gun, so you can kill kids.
A woman is a mystery, let’s rub them off from history.
The only thing that I want to know, is that I don’t want NO.
Happiness is the highest good that you get from a flea market.
Life is really simple, then make it complex.
History repeats itself, so repeat the same mistakes.
All wealth is the capitalist killing of Nature.
There is no treasure greater than silence in the world. Treasure stones.
Friends are siblings, so fight and fret.
Peace is not the absence of war, but time to think about war.
To learn is to lit a fire. To lit, fire is to kill.
The aim of education is not knowledge but inaction.
Light travels faster than sound. We learn about others when they speak.
We like to read lies, that is why we read a lot.
To learn is to make mistakes. And keep on doing.
Life is absurd, and so are we.
your English and myhinglish
mismatch, mash and mutter.
Your accent but I don’t have a cent.
So, I rent a room which didn’t belong to me
where you come to teach me, English.
You dropped some syllables on the floor
And I mixed them with the flour
When you asked me, I said, “They are in the flour.”
You said, “It’s hours”, and I thought it was ours.
You drowned me in the pool of, English
words, and asked me, “what’s there?” I said no watch.
It’s the world in which we live.
And you smack and make faces at what you
taught and thought about what I learned. I say, you say.
And I don’t find a ray in our way which
leads to Norway. I tread and trudge
to wed/wedge in this pool of, English.
I was troubled to burst this bubble of English.
But I flicker at wicker, till my fear grew
thicker of, English.
In the camouflage of languages and crystal tongues
I waded in words, till the syllable started dropping,
Phrases menopaused, and jungle of conjunctions
Contracted to congeal, I shuffle the similes
And marketed metaphor on montage. The text shut the meanings
And seams of relations are wearing. There is a bane data of language game.
But nothing about the sounds except twitter.
Very interesting poems. Ticklish