War, you piece of my monotony !
Why don't you talk to my focus ?
Do you find yourself so firmly feeble
in tracing such locus,
where I nest my 'eagle' ?
Enduring your best
slowly at my behest
ain't the only slovenly spa
Resurrected by no guilt,
yet perfected by qualms
falling still short of bourgeoisie, napalms
I don't kill you poor thought
For you wish me distraught
Don't you dare push like kindergarten
Let me break my monotony first
To your down-quarks, much later..
I'll talk, then ! Slyly quenched thirst
Letting eagles fence mind
and sand define the border,
Calling ‘succinct’ the grind
and not what went harder
is that gradient all try
from the gym to the jungle, asking
where not ! why not why?
Anyway its an agony past prime
For a war, for a “monotony”
Let's argue to never fuel
another dime !
Monotony is not for me
Boredom’s partner, you will agree
Routinization does her best to stifle
Creativity ~ from eyeful to Eiffel
she shows her battle scars and all i feel is numbness,
he flaunts his maidens and i overlook the dumbness.
she cries woes of heartbreak and i cannot feel pity,
he weeps waterfalls of failure and i fake some integrity.
she hurts me the most when she berates her busy nature,
he wounds me the deepest when he complains of his drained stature
for when all you've lived is a life of monotony
you start wishing suddenly for a lobotomy.
Does it matter what you do
or matter what you say?
Does anything mean anything
when you live Groundhog Day?
Is there a way to please the Gods
so that they’ll let you go?
Or maybe there’s no point at all.
Perhaps it’s just a show.
But what else can you do
if you find you’re stuck in this scene.
You have to just keep going
and hope you will find the thing
that they are wanting you to learn.
You have to find a way
to end the drama, check the box…
and escape Groundhog Day.
A breeze did slide in under eaves
and stirred inside the air that grieves,
my children grown my dreams have flown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
My chair in front of window bare,
I look… but husband’s soul elsewhere.
Beneath my feet the floorboards moan,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
Each day I rock the same tic tock
and change not from my sleeping frock.
Once soft my face now turned a crone,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The length of cobwebs measure time
they speak no secret sing no rhyme,
but air that’s stirred does tend to drone…
alone, I sit my rocking throne.
I pray to rock myself to sleep
as old-age-chains do rust with weep.
These tears from seeds of sorrows sown,
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The run of beads and crucifix
will not unfix life’s mix of tricks.
A rosary my rope and stone,
alone... I sit my rocking throne.
Of God I beg relief from grief,
unbind my mind from mortal sheaf.
This plea endures like sun bleached bone—
alone I sit my rocking throne.
The monotony of existence, the scared
face of life, haunts my figment’s dust.
The blank sullen eyes, which of dream are bared
are drenched in, worldly physical- criminal lust.
The night that charmed my existence
Now dreads me, out of unknown fears
Where the bats fleets in the past tense
And the morn is born- like ‘ones in many years’.
Still- hope drills my mind-
Still- my breath out of positivity is sweet.
I’m new, not crippled nor kind,
But my tears are still salty, oh! Nature I couldn’t beat.
Akash Sangwan
We live within a lifeless metropolis,
Where corporations prance in the stream of time,
Their gaping mouths reciting shallow verse,
While Freedom’s statue weeps in lonely midnight.
Gargantuan flags ripple and unfurl,
Announcing a surge of ominous design,
A swelling tide of nefarious purpose,
That stains the air with ill intent’s malign.
Concrete streets echo with hollow footfalls,
As souls trudge through the mire of monotony,
Blind to the puppeteers pulling their strings,
Lost in the dance of mass conformity.
The world breathes a toxic atmosphere,
Where greed is worshipped as a deity,
And progress is measured in dollar signs,
While empathy fades into obscurity.
Yet amidst this wasteland, a flicker remains,
The spark of hope in eyes that dare to see,
The rebel voices, whispers in the night,
Yearning for change, for a future yet to be.
I weave my words into verses untamed,
An epic of truth, resistance defined,
For even in this dead world’s ‘s cold embrace,
The fire of rebellion forever shines.
Didn't like the taste of sorrow on my tounge
My bitter words, ashes in my mouth
Tears streak down my face, grey stains
on the sallow surface of my cheeks
Turns to salt on my lips
I whisper, every day is the same
Flying scorching skies,
Another rescue,
Another promise it so seems.
Used again and again,
Then tossed away each time.
Yet I can’t seem to reason now.
My finger to my lips,
I silence the cries of pain,
Stirring within me,
And tell myself I’m helping.
And in between my lives,
I wander stone-cold, grim,
And wonder if I’ve somehow died,
Repeating the same labors,
Day in and day out forever,
Until I’m called again,
To swear a new honor,
Or a new love to throw out,
Away into the starless night.
And it’s so familiar now,
Sickeningly I admit.
And yet I cannot abide,
In these toils so maddening.
So I wait in suspense
For the next abuse
My wings are folded
I’m falling from the sky
Beneath their eyes, those light-years away
Bleeding into each other,
Separate days no longer are.
Wishing my next vow would come
Despite its future cost
Rent from my passion.
Alas, abeyance,
Is all that’s left for me now.
Tonight I lay in bed in dread
of returning in the morning
to the beige building on that dead end street
that floods like the Nile after a rain
potholes in the parking lot like a lunar landscape
to my tiny office the last on the left in the back
its one window facing a barren farmer’s field
where I’ll listen to the click-clack of the keyboard
as my fingers fly nimbly over it
I must have been meant for so much more than this
mind numbing monotony
of minimum wage pay though I have a college degree
to type marriage licenses and divorce decrees
tax returns submitted by the wealthy
that only serve as stark reminders of forty years of failure
to make the world take notice of me
as if I were cursed from the cradle
to be covered with a cloak of invisibility
forever to remain a nobody that no one can hear or see
as all the magic in my mind withers on the vine
wasted before it could be made into wine
Same scene; same birds, flies, insects; same plants, and fall flowers,
Sameness has built lasting nests, like small social weavers;
Boredom, like ivy creep or jasmine, creeps, and hovers,
Tedium grows hooky and sticky like coal-cleavers...!
I avoid crowds, yet, see the same faces at the end,
Each route I tread toward, the same destiny does tend;
Everyone does see; just like me; all feel yet pretend;
Who is wrong? Who is right? Who here does ever repent?
Compromise is the word they use; with whom? When? What? Why?
Conciliation! What? What does this mean? Earth? Oh! Sky?
Each way you think is only your way; they seem to say,
Confusions and contradictions are trends of the day...!
Mono! Boredom so! Tedium! Do they touch your heart?
Plunge! Dive! Drown! Come alive! Yet, life is not full of naught!!!
25 October 2021
Hey, unwelcome monotony...
my moods are darker than the Squawk's melody;
all the swans have deserted the nearby pond...
will another thunder shake trees and ground,
making the rest of the huddled geese in grief
flee to a calmer and more peaceful reef?
Do I want to weep as trees do hearing flowers complain...
remembering the lulling breeze of the sunniest day?
Do I wish to bring back each joy lost to the boring rain?
Nothing is lovely behind this window so foggy and deary!
Hey, unwelcome monotony
don't be more unbearable than loneliness;
clouds bring rain and with them drabness,
can anyone find inspiration in insipid beauty?
Do I dream of valleys beneath mountains,
put up a tent and watch with starry eyes a twinkling sky;
lest I fall asleep and miss shouting stars...
those stars that never collide with hearts
that remain faithful to themselves and others?
Will they ever be betrayed by promises that have run dry?
Say hello to my endless monotony,
don't pity me for such stubborn animosity;
who's sadder than I bearing solitude daily?
Is winter a boring season for some...
something to view as awesome,
or an unexpected wonder to come?
Say hello to my endless monotony,
squally skies don't suggest vivacity;
even my songs are dark in tonality!
Hills and mountains are covered in white,
dogs and squirrels engage in rival spite:
birds are rascals and their chirps are trite!
Say hello to my endless monotony,
step into my world of deep sobriety;
these moods don't reflect my philosophy!
Her wonder at the moon comes back every night.
When she is staring at the sky with her eyes wide open,
gazing and sinking into stormy contemplation,
musing on human life.
The moon reminds her of the faded memories.
Days when she used to feel alive, cheerful, gleeful and
now all her youthful exuberance has departed her soul already.
Life is hard.
Harder than it seems.
She could feel the pain in her heart which she is bearing for eternity.
She is in agony.
There is no way out.
No way to wash away her misery.
Everyday she craves for a fresh new beginning.
But when she looks at the blue and the shining stars,
an alluring smile starts caressing her soft lips.
Music plays inside her head,
the rhythm of the boulevards does hypnotize.
All the negativities now disappears.
It's the night sky that makes her feel better.
It's only because of the stars and the moon,
she could carry on in the game of life.
After all she is a NYCTOPHILE.
The green walls
Dulled with age.
Food, paint, and dirt
Completely ingrained
It’s been so long.
These rooms and the hall
Why go upstairs?
I’ve seen it all.
Go out the front door.
The air fresh and clean
Nothing here though
Is a sight unseen.
2 decades of this
20 years passed
A wall-less prison
The worst kind of trapped
Impossible wishes
What to do? Where to go?
I’m less likely to leave
Than a river without flow.
And with that I sit.
On this grassy knoll.
Subjecting myself
To 20 more still.
7/25/2020
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