Enigmatic entropy endeavours the devouring of my depressive tendencies
In the form of an effaced anonymity
Pledging a tender hand to thwart the destruction of my anatomy
Distraught estrangement of in-autonomous tailing tellings
Shall cast this faceless stranger astray
Beyond the smooth syllables of an identifying name
For these hounds that thrash in the thick of sleep
And so do weep of singularity in accompanying company
Shall chase, shall gnaw at the face, the hand that feeds the freer frailty of freedom
And chaff this chance of a chance to escape
These samsaras of silence for the requiem of a dallied day
Dancing and dashing and prancing and thrashing
In the estranged fixation of this strange savior
That wilt know not of my inner ills, beyond the disfigurement of mine own outer mutilation
K.M.P
18//9//26
Tried it all
Parents scared of my thoughts
Have a lot of lives
A past say; not exactly
At the end all come to a point
Wouldn't say talent or hidden either
A curse to me, didn't like the things.
Was not exactly a beginner
Never thought I had it in me
The freer the verse the deeper the cuts
Good for nothing; Yeah I was
Why care about people did they cry with you
Too much stress too little time
I want some, at least one to hear.
Dreams Undreamed
If you never write
another word
will what’s written
be enough
If you never speak
another rhyme
will your Muse
in silence rust
If you never hear
another’s plea
will you bear
the selfish cost
If you never feel
another’s pain
will your dreams undreamed
— be lost
********
Aces & Eights
Luck is for losers
wish as wish may
Winds of your folly
— keep fortune at bay
********
This Instant
Stop waiting for your
just reward
the gift has come
today
Not past or future
but wrapped
inside
this moment on display
Freeing you from
reference
and statutes
that define
Presenting you
in every way
this instant
— most sublime
********
A Freer Time
Voting against ...
no longer for
Our ballots
cast in vain
The product of
a system rigged
What’s left
in hope’s disdain
Our heroes locked
inside death row
Their skeletons
remain
The remnants
of a freer time
Elections
— forcing change
(The New Room: June, 2026)
I’m still young,
yet I keep searching for my childhood.
Funny, isn’t it?
I sit with Papa,
and listen to Grandpa’s stories—
their world felt freer than mine.
Why was I born
in this new generation?
We are Gen Z,
lost in screens,
in fake love,
in quiet rooms.
I want to run outside,
to feel the sun, the dust—
but I’m stuck
inside four walls.
Still, somewhere inside,
I want to run barefoot...
But I don’t know what I’m missing—
but it hurts like it was mine once.
Every dreamer born may
an escapist become.
When emotional survival
is bad weather stifled
fantasy arrival is
vital as heart and head
weapons that reckon
with false hitting bits of
regrets spittled resin.
Escapists have naive
need beliefs that seek
relief lacking clues.
Not intuitively glued,
they flare prime illusions
then meet blues intrusion.
Rue immersions disburse
layered bruises into
their fantasy threads.
Escapists do not pencil
lists to assist their trips.
Without practice or
attending lessons, an
escapist will maximize an
ideal conception from
foggy appeals and provide
their own transportation
to vaguely arrive in a bog.
Soon dizzy from the tizzy
of too little information,
they’ll deny hearing
reality’s jeering cry.
Easier and freer to eat
it all down for soon
the bog ball will end
and only they need to know
the why in the what that they did.
The Joy Of
Letting It All Be
Free.
Free FREER Free
Free.
I Don’t Care, What?
Oh, Just LET IT BE
Hilarious!
Free Life!
Surprised?
I Am.
TeeHeeHee Hee He.
Accidently, I Guess.
Lucky Me.
-Gray Squirrel
02-27-2026
?
Shhh...
There's Always
A
CATCH... Meow.
Wider, freer
And freshly stirred.
Whose life-sphere's airy uplift
Passed through of bird?
Not ours, surely!
Trapped bear's to gauge.
Resembles, experiencing
Mad-shook rank cage.
Our thoughts, cloud-rived musings
Transcend the mundane
With this, mountainy
Rise; inspiringly.
Higher, what for them are
Freer, world-detached
With these, winged aslant
Sent. More effective!
Swallows sunward. Till
Mind for peace is still.
Call me common;
at least I’m reliable.
Rugged though I may be,
I grow more relaxed with time.
Call me rebel;
I strive for equality.
Freer still with Spandex,
my grin gets indigo-stretched.
We both know the weight of the eyes of the world.
We’re both afraid of how our peers would whisper and stare.
Believe me, I know the hesitance all too well
But what if my mother doesn’t care?
We know that society says that it’s wrong
Friends and foes with fangs would come after me and you
But what if I take your hand and we hide somewhere dark?
There, in the quiet, we can start something new.
Alone in that dream, in our private abyss,
We’d be freer than ever before.
Because all of this pretending is getting exhausting
When every word makes me want you more.
Whispers and shouts will blend together in a blur
“They’re an example of what not to do.
“Do you see how disgusting that is, how far apart?”
But we both know their words aren’t true
Because none of it matters,
Not as long as you’re there.
When the two of us are happy,
And my mother doesn’t care.
When they cried for touches,
When she loved mocking the noises,
When he acted like he didn't care,
He made a false claim with an extravagant dare...
Time is too precious to waste.
The setting is perfect for achieving nothing but salvation.
"Time is nothing but an illusion," he says!
And counsels her on how to get her to flee,
As all things have parted ways.
The guy is so blessed with opportunities.
The guy doesn't care about anything but the girl's salvation.
Sometimes it's too hard to hold someone,
And sometimes, the rescue turns into a blessing!
The storms don't care about the man or the woman,
They often visit their possessions,
But they never wanted the storms,
Yet that causes redemption...
Freedom brings illusions along with liberties,
And nothing is freer than a bird without a cage,
Who wants to be caged by her true intent!
Dear Tom
If I had the courage to speak from the heart
Ladybirds of redness would sing from
It.
I imagined my pain was of your making
But it was only the making of life.
Now I'm alive like a ladybug.
Still small but making my way bravely
Forward and backward and forward again.
Now more smoothly and flying at times.
Dear Tom
If I could speak from my heart
I'd say
Nails have been stuck in my chest
After you left.
I cared about each one of your steps
I could not witness you make.
It was the kind of loving I wanted for myself.
Dear Tom.
Your silence is empty like a heart that's
Been shut -
But I give myself to it and I'm full of it
Now.
I call things for what they are
Too. Do you hear ?
Cause shying away from the heart
Keeps it shut.
Dear Tom
I imagined you could be my home but
This was my bad.
Like I could have owned your being and
Fill it with mine.
That's not loving, that's owning.
Colonising. I retract.
Dear Tom,
I honour your spirit.
May it be freer and freer
With each day like a ladybug
That flies it's own
Own
Own way.
The older
I get
the simpler
it seems
Each day
growing freer
divorced from
my dreams
Each year
brings the seasons
of Summer
through Spring
And months
in transition
new changes
they bring
The answers
I chased for
those questions
I asked
Rest quietly
dormant
in the future
and past
As time
now a mistress
no longer
a wife
My world’s
come full circle
in this magic
— called life
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
It was a perfect day, a sunny golden day.
I felt the gentle sweep of easy breezes,
the music of the wind.
It was my daily stroll around the neighborhood,
my daily clarity.
It was there, and then I beheld the cat,
the leashed Siamese cat, prowling and smelling.
A man clutched this leash, seeming absorbed,
seeming preoccupied by cat rubbing and sniffing,
cat prowling and surveying land and sky.
Never had I witnessed a leashed cat.
This was a way we controlled and humanized dogs.
Cats were always wilder, less human, and freer.
My usual steps brought me nearer to
the cat on a leash. The owner had his back to me,
he seemed unaware of my approach.
But Siamese cat offered me a predatory stare,
ready to pounce on my flopping shoelaces.
I knew then my shoes were doomed,
my laces would soon die.
No, I couldn’t stop laughing.
Birds seems freer to a girl, she dwells in palace of imagination
She can't make it felt, can't tell the things in her questions
This is the freedom of the world; there is end of happiness in her eyes
When she tries to speak terror strikes, like her tongue is struck with thorns
She wants to write her own story, but pen is in someone else hands dusty
She sees little from her windows, rest of the world lies in her books
She sees the wrinkled face in mirror, fading with age is her fear
She can roam freely, but till her backyard near
She sees birds under the sky; she thinks to be like bird so high
But she knows it's a curse, to being a girl of unloved world
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