The truth

Posted by Zave | Posted in , , , | Posted on 16:52

2

Its neither about being a born sadist,
Nor turning a pessimistic with time.
Its neither called giving up the little hopes,
Nor can it be the undying fear of loss.
Its neither about the absence of of the dream,
Nor the presence of the disappointments.

Its neither about how sincerely you try or fight,
Nor is it whether others believe is right.
Its neither called being just another coward,
Nor can it be an alternative to struggle.
Its neither about getting lost amidst the faces,
Nor is it rediscovering yourself in any way.

Yet you will give up one day and accept the truth,
For once come face to face with the wretched reality.
Who was always there with a smug smile on his face,
And a curious few bunch of words for you at the end,
"You fail, you rise, and you continue trying again and again,
But how long do you think even you can survive that pain" ?

Those bits

Posted by Zave | Posted in , , , | Posted on 22:41

3

I just sit there, thinking,
Getting sad, and heart broken,
Feeling betrayed and suffocated,
Growing jealous, and happy,
All muddled up with a hint of pride.

But then my heart grows heavy,
And its weight keeps mounting up;
I struggle, trying to cut it down,
Desperate to cut off myself from me,
And throw its bits down with disdain.

I succeed, yes I do, just a little,
I always do, always have been,
But then whats left shamelessly stays,
As it has, since eternity, those bits.

Drop by drop an ocean becomes,
And so do I drown to the depths,
I don't swim, never knew either,
Just stay, motionless, not a sound,
And watch you, watch you grow,
See you go away, further away,
And as my vision fades, my senses rest,
I commit to the emptiness inside.

The unusual status

Posted by Zave | Posted in , | Posted on 11:54

1

The diary has been forgotten once more,
The words have deserted too for good,
The pen carelessly thrown somewhere else,
The ink dried off, spilled all over the table.

"Who cares about this anyway, when you don't" ?

Thoughts have become selfishly good for nothing,
The heart just throws up at every mention of it,
The eyes have stopped searching finally this time,
The body just does what its best at, keep working fine.

"Damn, its about time, don't you think boy" ?

The songs have stopped making sense for the first time,
The memories wiped clean with nothing much left,
The moods, all have become mostly the same anyways,
The senses have finally come to their senses in the end.

"That is life, sweet, one hell of a life, ain't it" ?
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