Man of No Memory

I want to be a man of no memory.

So, I’m choosing to give you up now.

I want to be a man of no memory.

And I’m gonna fake it until I make it.

So if you comeback, please don’t be surprised,

if I act like I don’t know you.

Please don’t ask me questions & tempt my resolve.

Believe me when I ask- who are you?

Please do that much for me.

Only you know how much I suck at lying.

Don’t try to dig up the truth.

It’s only gonna hurt worse.

The truth is- I want to be a man of no memory; but I remember everything.

I might say I hate you; but I’m gonna keep on loving you.

I know I might always need you; but the truth is-

I just don’t want you anymore.


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Poetic Overkill

You left and came back like the wind at night.
Quietly but with a different force.
You thought nobody would notice; but I did.
However subtle maybe the workings of your betrayals, I always end up knowing them.
And I wish I wasn’t cursed with such secrets.

There are some people who don’t understand trust or faithfulness.
They don’t,
and they never can.
And it’s unfair on them to expect otherwise.
Some people are born to live free,
Some people are born to die selfish.
Some things are as simple as that.

So I bury my expectations grudgingly.
I always do good deeds.
But I still can’t say I’m a good person.
I think and write bad, sad things.
I fear exile and judgement too much.
Maybe this is the curse of being understanding.
Maybe it is my inability of understanding deceit.

So, please don’t you lament now, my darling.
It’s not your fault.
This is the result of my devotion.
This is the result of my fury.
This is the fruit my love has borne.
And I’m often left all alone to swallow it.

I am okay, I really am.
I was meant to implode eventually.
My imagination is a painter who only likes black.
My love will be the death of me, you always used to say that.
Maybe I’m just here to fulfil that prophecy.

So, don’t you cry my darling.
You’ve done nothing wrong.
It’s not you.
It can never be you.
For it was you, who taught me how to live-
It‘s me who found the meaning of backstabs and bloodshed.
My thoughts, they are my death’s emissaries.
My feelings, they are the ones killing me.


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The Old Man’s Watch

“What time is it?” The child asked.

“My watch seems to have stopped.” The old man said.

“Don’t you miss it? Don’t you get lonely stuck in the same time? Don’t you miss the idea of a future?” The child inquired.

“The past is my future.” The old man replied.


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Quote of the day

‘’I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people, rising from this abyss. I see the lives, for which I lay down my life – peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence…

It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known…’’

~The Dark Knight Rises (2012)

A String of Epiphanies

It was here, 
I saw her first. 
My crooked-nosed fairy. 
A sun-kissed girl.
Encircled, consumed 
by her own brilliant light. 
It was here, 
she swam across the darkness to me.
It was here, 
I heard her first. 
My enigmatic siren. 
Oblivious of her own chaos, 
crooning, crying- 
she sang of a peaceful world. 
It was here, 
I found out what a lullaby did.
It was here, 
I saw the enchanted sky.
Her eyes black jewels.
Ignorant of their mischievous shine;
calm, composed
she spoke of love so seriously.
It was here,
the thunderbolt struck me first.
It was here, 
I tasted the stars. 
My favourite cigarette smoke. 
A temptress shimmering, 
talking, burning. 
Trapped by her devilish tongue- 
It was here, 
I wanted time to forever stop.
It was here, 
I found the iceberg’s depth. 
Endless ICU nights. 
A colourless fate. 
Shocked & shivering- 
It was here,
I learned to beg. 
It was here, 
I learned how prayers were made.
It was here, 
she danced in a sinking ship. 
Death simply felt too inconsequential 
for a being that alive. 
It was here, 
I ordered my desperate wishes on the universe. 
It was here, 
I confessed all that I did not deserve- 
all the life she gave me.
It was here, 
I learned how smiling angels wept. 
She promised me it was okay, 
but I was afraid to fall asleep in her arms.  
It was here,
her ruffling fingers and soothing songs 
broke me again.  
It was here, 
I woke up after the sun had set.

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The Funeral

When I’ll do it, I’ll do it without mistake.

I shall bear no scars beforehand.

Multiple attempts won’t be needed to me.

If it shall be, it shall be swift and clean.

With the ruthless blade of my indifferent mind.

And it shall be that way only.

No one shall know I existed.

I shall arrive and depart in the same quiet hour.

No one shall see what I don’t want them to see.

No one shall cry and put on a show.

There will be a celebration of my impotence instead.

And I shall remain attendant to loathe everyone who need to be loathed.

I never liked attention and I deem it will be like that always.

My departure will be silent and peace less.

The castles will echo empty, their servants shall run away.

And I’ll be glad that I moved some stones.

The oppressors shall hold their heads forever high.

But there will be guilt brewing inside their hearts.

And like the poison that slowly kills, I shall birth their funerals with it.


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Oblivion Road

I love myself, I do-

Enough to not die, but not enough to live.

I wake up and I walk.

I do all which is necessary.

I do all that’s expected of me.

But I’m empty, there’s no passion in me.

I walk, I breathe and I exist.

I assure you I’m not dead.

Not yet.

But I’m not alive either.

I’m a warrior with least resistance.

I’m a light on the oblivion road.

I’m a gambler of time and hope.

I measure less and less as I grow old.

I walk and watch other people run.

I walk and manage to move no place.

I love myself, I do.

I just don’t like me anymore.


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Quote of the day

“If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.”

~John Green, Looking For Alaska


The hairs are not the person.

But persons are made of hairs.

So, losing your hair is just like losing a bit of the person.

As the leaves leave the damaged, lonely tree,

As the sand slips through the fractured hourglass-

Minute by minute,

Leaf by leaf,

Hair by hair,

Ugly barren death creeps nearer all the time.


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