The heart beats fast with no restraint, so much so you feel breathless
But no one's bracing for impact, it's just another day in your life, feckless.
The hand holds firm onto some twigs it just managed to pick up for company,
As one stands motionless in the spotlight
Reciting one's lines, saying what needs to be said
Faking a smile, enduring what needs to be endured;
Conforming to the seasonal swells and surges
And being faithful to society's conformistic purges.
But the inertia to fit in is stronger than the spontaneity to simply be
Judgement is clouded by the flush of conflicting sensibilities
Some days are better than most.
But strength needs to be drawn from the depths of the host,
of where perhaps it never really exists to the self unbeknownst.
That may have sounded hard. Even crude and heartless.
And one acknowledges that sometimes that's exactly the way it is.
Yet there are days of exhilaration, blood rushing through the veins
Pride clouding the need to be modest and sane,
Joy spreading across the upper abdomen with a fluttery light feeling
Courage and confidence abrimming.
The carelessness to one's surroundings and the focus on one's present bliss
just about makes one visible once again to the world around.
Pheromonal accomplices even observe one with desire. Ha!
A nasty childhood memory vaguely peeps in
through the door of one's mind in an attempt to self-protect.
But one punches it away so effortlessly, with confident machismo.
One shall bask in the boisterousness of the moment for now before it goes bust,
Simply be the guilty source of another's glaring jealousy or lust.
The day of the hangover sometimes feels just like most other days.
Makes one wonder what one has done to have inherited this emotional haze
Facts and reality don't matter now, self-critique is here to go over last night
with the lens of our prejudices and past, to give me some "perspective".
There is always that one (or several) human friend (or foe)
who has all the conformist, desirable, things in life
The one who makes one's life seem pitiable, or unfortunate almost;
One wonders what it would be to be him/her, people like them.
One hates them in those moments; one rationalises the hate.
Maybe sometimes even hatred in its pure form simmers. Ferments!
One hopes one's life shall take a turn some day for the sake of these others,
so that THEY may see how one is not so pitiable, not yet in the gutters.
O! How we play with fate, we beckon, plead, and beg our unbeknownst destiny,
our God, our stars, our rationale, our social network hegemony,
to give us a break and bet us for higher stakes.
Just for once, we tell them to have some faith!
There is more to us than we seem to make of ourselves.
We're more capable than we seem to be helpless,
We're more dainty than we pretend to be butch,
We're more classy than we let others perceive us to be useless,
We're more sophisticated than others imagine us to be crass,
We're more smart than others give us credit for,
We're more invisible than we think others see of us.
We're all bundles of emotions, packaged differently each of us.
We're our childhood, youth, social networks, prejudices and perks
all kneaded in to one nice existential dough of feelings.
(India)
But no one's bracing for impact, it's just another day in your life, feckless.
The hand holds firm onto some twigs it just managed to pick up for company,
As one stands motionless in the spotlight
Reciting one's lines, saying what needs to be said
Faking a smile, enduring what needs to be endured;
Conforming to the seasonal swells and surges
And being faithful to society's conformistic purges.
But the inertia to fit in is stronger than the spontaneity to simply be
Judgement is clouded by the flush of conflicting sensibilities
Some days are better than most.
But strength needs to be drawn from the depths of the host,
of where perhaps it never really exists to the self unbeknownst.
That may have sounded hard. Even crude and heartless.
And one acknowledges that sometimes that's exactly the way it is.
Yet there are days of exhilaration, blood rushing through the veins
Pride clouding the need to be modest and sane,
Joy spreading across the upper abdomen with a fluttery light feeling
Courage and confidence abrimming.
The carelessness to one's surroundings and the focus on one's present bliss
just about makes one visible once again to the world around.
Pheromonal accomplices even observe one with desire. Ha!
A nasty childhood memory vaguely peeps in
through the door of one's mind in an attempt to self-protect.
But one punches it away so effortlessly, with confident machismo.
One shall bask in the boisterousness of the moment for now before it goes bust,
Simply be the guilty source of another's glaring jealousy or lust.
The day of the hangover sometimes feels just like most other days.
Makes one wonder what one has done to have inherited this emotional haze
Facts and reality don't matter now, self-critique is here to go over last night
with the lens of our prejudices and past, to give me some "perspective".
There is always that one (or several) human friend (or foe)
who has all the conformist, desirable, things in life
The one who makes one's life seem pitiable, or unfortunate almost;
One wonders what it would be to be him/her, people like them.
One hates them in those moments; one rationalises the hate.
Maybe sometimes even hatred in its pure form simmers. Ferments!
One hopes one's life shall take a turn some day for the sake of these others,
so that THEY may see how one is not so pitiable, not yet in the gutters.
O! How we play with fate, we beckon, plead, and beg our unbeknownst destiny,
our God, our stars, our rationale, our social network hegemony,
to give us a break and bet us for higher stakes.
Just for once, we tell them to have some faith!
There is more to us than we seem to make of ourselves.
We're more capable than we seem to be helpless,
We're more dainty than we pretend to be butch,
We're more classy than we let others perceive us to be useless,
We're more sophisticated than others imagine us to be crass,
We're more smart than others give us credit for,
We're more invisible than we think others see of us.
We're all bundles of emotions, packaged differently each of us.
We're our childhood, youth, social networks, prejudices and perks
all kneaded in to one nice existential dough of feelings.
(India)
