C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S | A Poem

Your finger tips know
very well to scroll up and down,
tap right and right
and only right.

Oh! something appears:
Started School at XYZ.
Type congratulations!
Type it now,
because this post won’t appear later.
15 seconds and it will be gone
in the oceans of algorithms.
You’ll look mean and
rude and jealous,
so type fast, C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S!

A big glass of juice,
chocos dipped in milk,
because you love chocolate,
and yet you can’t let go of
the sight of the screen.

Let’s see:
Started Job At The Best Company In The
Whole Wide World.
Fast type: congratulations
because you do not mean to be rude,
even if your accounts have run dry,
this is not the time to
question the unconventional path
you’ve decided to walk on.

Type, type.
Because you are indeed proud of
that someone,
and wish nothing but
great things for the other.

Yet, you cannot stop wondering,
if the roads ahead
amount to anything.

Lying on the bed
close to mid-night,
the scrolling game in dim light.
The tech lights
might damage your sight,
but wait:
Engaged to DEF!
Fast, type: Congratulations,
even if you know this post will pop again,
type it fast.
Now’s not the time to worry about
your broken heart, your insecure mind
that tells you you’ve been doing something wrong
by being all by yourself
all this time.
Type: C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S!
Congratulations.

You do not mean ill will,
you do not mean disaster,
you are not the sour devil.
Even if you have to think twice
to type
congratulations!

Dried up appetites,
surviving on self doubts,
where do we belong?

Wait:
A proud father?
You look at yourself,
your body so fragile
unable to complete
what you’ve started
how and when will you ever think of a child?
Still type: Congratulations! 

Type type,
don’t be such a miser!
Wish a wish,
maybe it’ll come back to you.

Here’s a better idea:
let’s get out of this myopia.
Throw away the screen
and silence the voices in your head,
that tell you
you are not enough. 

Listen. Do not see.
Just listen.
You are E-N-O-U-G-H. 

Now write to yourself:
CONGRATULATIONS!


For everyone who feels everybody knows the path but yourself: No one does. No one. 
Pink Floyd was right:

“We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year”

Feet | Poetry

My feet run
only as long as
day light remains.

They run fast and
they are hard,
strong as steel,
made of the finest iron,
one of those things
that are really real.

They’ve crossed mountains
and streams
and valleys
of all kinds.
They’ve conquered kingdoms
and knights
and weapons
known to humankind.

But when night falls
and the lights run out,
they cripple,
devoid of it’s origins.

They run
to somewhere
where no demon should
reach, else it be consumed.

They do not have strength
in them,
it’s been sucked out.

It’s like drowning
in deep waters,
with your foot tied to an anchor.

Lend me a hand,
will you?
Because I cannot escape it alone.

Neither can you.

A Blank Page To Lie | Poetry

The blank page is the enemy.
The blankness is to defeat.

But what would you do
if you couldn’t escape even
your own piece of paper?

If you couldn’t even be
true to words,
when they begin to tell lies.

What would you do then?
When your world
begins to tell lies.

When you can’t tell
your own head
what you want in your imagination?

Lie to me, you’d say.
Lie to me, over and over again.
But do not write
the truth.

Run as fast as you can,
from your own imagination.
Because it might come true,
in a horror setting.

Lie to me, over and over again.
But do not write the truth.

For a blank page to lie,
how horrible it would be.
A blank page to lie,
would kill you,
over and over again.

For a blank page to lie,
maybe it’s truly real,
this time.

Real things do break,
you know.