A Synical Cycle Speeding Through My Head.

I always wondered if we did anything for the sake of doing it or really to show to others around us that we are capable of doing anything of worth. I came to such a question a few years after i started writing, but really now that i come to think of it, I honestly feel the only thing i like to keep secret apart from the various facets of my life is my writing and my ability to love unlimited. Its just that i feel these two things are my very core and if i go around throwing it peoples faces like a cheeky girl from the red light district it wont really make me happy anymore, i like the fact that when people look at me and go " oh huge guy, wonder if he is any good at anything?" but i am truly humbled when the people I let into my little sanctum are completely shocked by my alter egos, oh yes, egos not ego. I am such a person who finds the most noise in silence, only because there are several aspects i tend to look at things when I'm alone. It doesn't just extend to analysis of things it goes to the extent of critical analysis of EVERYTHING. I usually have two of my alter egos in constant play through out my day, moving and chatting, constantly giving me my soon to be next move. These as most people would come to believe are the good and the bad. But these to characters who i have created in my head are not just good and bad, they are far worse, they are Bold and Humble.




Now i bet you're wondering whether I'm delusional, I couldn't blame you even if i wanted to, but none the less I am not delusional. I simply see things in a rather crude and straight forward manner than most of the people around me. These two characters help me stand in front of the biggest and most scariest of things and force me to stare it right in the eyes and smile, and then again when the world is at my feet the same characters force me to bend down and give everyone a hand to come eye to eye with me. I remember once someone said i remind them of an old man but I'm only 22 years old, at first i went , "hold on!!" but now I'm glad i am that "Old Man", for it comes very rarely in this world that you actually have the possibility of seeing things through an array of viewpoints rather than just a mundane set of freaking binoculars. these so called characters help define the very sense and term in which i find it most agreeable to associate with life. Now, you are probably wondering why on Earth i am going on about two people i have created in my head. Let me help you, Poetry and writing has its standard views and guidelines but i just want to be somebody else when I'm writing poetry, i don't want to be mundane Sameer Haithum Kapoor. I want to  be a lover who has never experienced love or a man ruined by racism and conviction or even a man swamped with hate and deceit.


When I first started writing it was constantly about love and falling in love and being in love and so on and so forth, !!!COME ON!!! , I had it. I grew sick of it, not because i grew sick of love but because i grew sick of just the same thing. By this i mean that love is great but love constantly, that's just boring, I wanted to venture out into the lands of lust and deception and walk the planks of the paranormal or the schizophrenic mind, blow the smoke rings of a junkie and drink the whiskey of a slob, these were adventures i wanted take when i wrote, i didn't care if my writing transported you anywhere. It's where it transported me and how it made me feel, how placidly it caught my arms and lay me down came close to me and gently kissed my lips to transform the world around me into a sensual vortex of utmost pleasure and total bliss. The joy of writing that i come to feel when i throw out a poem is something i try to give onto my readers, but again it doesn't even matter much if they do go there.

At times i wonder if I'm selfish, but wait didn't i just make you read a whole three paragraphs on how i couldn't care less about what you think of my writings and just how much i love to write and how good it makes ME feel :)

You're fucking right I'm selfish and for good reason too, open hands don't catch fish just the dust in the wind.

Red River

Bright sunny days filled our hearts with joy
Cool crisp breeze made us laugh and play with toys,
Never did we think or feel these days would come to pass
Never did I conjure that I would be the one to hide in the tall grass,
The sky was blue till those tall dark men were seen
Wielding sword in hand and guns by their side,
Never have i seen such fear in my people's eyes
Never have i seen a red river part my village before my eyes.

The feeling of loss and hopelessness were in abundance
The notion of death lurking amidst all the raging comotion,
Mothers protecting their children; Fathers protecting their women
But humanity never gripped the tall dark men,
They lashed chests open and broke legs open
They killed for reasons unknown to us; They kill to their own purpose,
Men lie decimated; Women lie raped and convicted,
Yet there i stand in the tall grass; Watching the red river move through my feet as it begin to pass.

Soon the smoke clears and the noise stops
Soon the commotion comes to a halt,
But so soon my heart must find the courage and strength to see
To see just how cruel and heartless man can be,
I must walk amongst these corpses covered in blood and soot
I must gaze to each face so i can find the ones i wished never to find,
This torment has come to plague my soul
Looking for the loving people who made my house a home,
But then the world comes to a pause; for the sight ahead of me
for the sight ahead of me i have no strength for at all.

Cutting through my house the river runs red; Carrying the bodies of those I loved the most
Cutting through my soul my heart beats like as if i was dead; Born only to see my family
Only to see my family lie still and dead in this river that runs red.

Home

I lay awake on my bed

With countless thoughts running through my head,
Stare up into a wall so black
Only to find the faces that i lack,
Countless hours have passed me by
Countless nights in sleepless time,
I left my heart in a place called home, only to find it wander with me where ever i may roam.

Pretty faces pass me by
Wonderful places i have seen with these two eyes,
Broken hearts fill the streets at night
Longing to catch a lover's keen sight,
Empty rooms that fill our hearts desires
The company of two to walk with through the fires,
I left my soul in a place called home, only to find it in the dark streets that i may roam.

For days come and go
Just like the newspaper on my front door,
No matter how far i decide to roam
My head is constantly filled with thoughts of home,
Thoughts of a life so wonderfully bliss
Thought of a life i seem to miss,
I left my mind in a place called home, only to find it missing when i find the urge to roam.

Lost and distraught i am with my soul, i feel the time has come for me to go back and embrace my home.