Everyone’s an activist,
A narcissistic pessimist,
A godforsaken anarchist,
His own protagonist,
Slimy little opportunist.

Writing up those blacklists,
Is on everyone’s checklist,
No intention to co-exist,
These anti-social colonists.
Acting like columnists.

World is full of confrontationists,
Sad and lonely escapists,
Racists and rapists,
Fake facaded feminists.

Where are all the humanists?
Hyper modern ideologists?
Out with all the materialists,
The melodramatists,
The outdated moralists.

Remember me?

i often sit and wonder
about those who i have wronged.
Who were once best friends
now who knows where they belong?

Some of them lovers too,
Some of them long forgotten,
Some still fresh and thriving.
some just corrode me rotten.

I wonder if they think of me,
and what they think when they do,
do i come up as a quirk,
or have i caused heartbreak too?

Do they see me as the one who got away,
or the one too good to be true?
Or maybe someone best forgotten,
Or someone they hardly knew?

What am i to these people,
Who show up unannounced
Waltzing in my memory
casting a web of doubt.

And what are the things,
that remind them of me?
A silhouette on the window,
Or a shadow in the sea?

Perhaps a face, a laugh,
Maybe something i said,
Do they remember me,
And stay awake late in bed?

Who knows these answers?
Who knows if they think of me too?
It’s not wishful thinking,
Can’t be more than a few.

Faces flash past my eyes
their words echo in my ears,
I wonder who remembers me now,
After all of these years.

Arachnid knight

Your guardian presenceAnd watchful eyes

Keep me safe

From hurt and lies. 

Silently still,

Far up above,

In your own world,

But so much love. 

You disappeared,

One fine day,

Packed your bags,

With nothing to say. 

I asked what happened,

When I left the room?

She said I waved my wand,

And swept the broom. 

Now I look up,

Right where you lurked,

Your house is gone,

And I’ve gone berserk. 

My watchful knight,

A selfless friend,

Curbing lonely days

And long weekends. 

I miss you now,

Right on that ceiling,

In that corner

That now lies gleaming. 

I felt safe in your watchful gaze,

Protected by your presence..

And now with one swift sweep,

Gone is your house and your essence. 

I do hope you return,

O’ selfless outsider,

I prefer you over my human roommate,

My watchful loving spider. 

Plugged in. 

Plugged in. 
Always plugged in, 

And keeps me near. 

Can’t leave it alone,

Out of fear. 

Someone might steal,

It’s expensive as hell. 

So I sit around next to it,

While it refuels its cell. 

And when it’s finally done,

I rejoice and cheer. 

But before I know it, 

It’s end is near. 

So I sit back down

With the power cord,

Acting as my leash

Or as my landlord. 

What is the point,

Calling it a “mobile” phone,

Always plugged in,

And making me groan. 

So I’m sitting on the floor,

While everyone else is on cloud nine,

Goddamn this cellphone,

It’s more like a freaking landline. 

What am I? 

What am I? 
What am I?

But a collection of thoughts,

A cloud of emotions,

A mere bag of muscles and bones,

Open to interpretation,

Free to be judged,

Or hated or loved. 
What am I?

but an open book,

Unfinished and unsatisfied. 

Turning life’s wheels,

Slowly but surely. 

Filling up pages as I go. 

While ink still runs in my veins. 
What am I?

But a manifestation of my inner self,

Someone else’s creation

Powered by my own conscience. 

A physical representation,

Of multidimensional thoughts

In a three dimensional world. 
What am I?

But a response to the world,

An action to a reaction,

Exposed to stimulus

Some good and some bad,

Not allowed to choose. 

And can’t ask why. 
What am I?

But a product of the system,

A symbol of the civilised world,

A creature among the living,

Bound to live and serve my purpose

And eventually perish and be forgotten. 

Like many before, and many to follow. 
What am I?

But forced existence. 

Burdened with the curse of life,

Watching humanity disappear 

And tolerance dissolve slowly

Into oceans of selfishness,

Filled by the tears of suffering. 
What am I?

Why am I here? 

What must I do?

Where must I go? 

What am I?

But a man with many questions,

With no means to find the answers.