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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Blissfully Sinful

They told me-

Ignorance is a sin.

So, I left in search of the world and everything we’d done with it.

And all I saw was how we’d turned our home into a collapsing time bomb.

And when I raised questions of accountability and sustainability of our madness,

They told me to forget.

They said that I knew too much.

They started teaching me how blissful was ignorance.

But despite their best efforts, I couldn’t unsee the nightmares of my knowledge.

And each time I saw the mirror, all I could see was a sinner.


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Dying is not the curse of the Covid.

We were all dying anyhow.

It is the distance it has put between the living.

Humanity lives only after selfish survival is ensured.

We were all dying; but now we are doing it alone.


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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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Quote of the day

“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”

~Beryl Markham


You say- it is the shortage of time which results in insufficiency of your efforts.

But the truth is, it’s the seeming abundance of it which makes you procrastinate.

And like all illusions, this illusion of unlimited time is only true until it isn’t.

By the time the realisation dawns upon you, it might already be too late.

By the time you wake up it might already be the season of dying.


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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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