21st Century Friends

Friends that you’d make,

In the 21st century,

Will be people of an odd kind.

They would not mean hate;

But love,

It would be presented in a puzzle,

With parts that won’t always fit.

 

They will value you,

As a trophy to be won,

As a laurel hung to their necks,

To show to everyone on the way.

And on some days,

They will throw you in the glass showcase,

where you’d still be admired,

But just because you look like a collectible for the eyes.

 

They will hold you like a bistro menu card,

And choose, one by one,

The parts that they will give love to,

And cross off the items,

That don’t sate their appetite,

For which you must be ignored.

 

You will often run

Into the walls of their expectations.

Walls made of tougher stuff than steel,

Walls that’ll never be low enough for you to cross over,

Walls that’ll you’ll be asked to break,

But those walls would only break you.

 

And some off-timers would also see you,

People befitting the definition of people,

Tossed from a bygone era into your life,

For keeping you at bay with things like love

And hope and dreams.

 

But mostly, it’ll be tough to be you,

In people who can’t really stand the ‘you’, that,

They are always asking you to be.

21st century comes with screw-ups in its line of code,

You’d have to learn the language of love,

With many variables,

And very few constants.

 

In A Lawless Land

And, with crossed fingers once, I sat
In a moving train and wondered,
How did the world get itself
In such a rush?
People running in all directions
Blinded by reflections of gold;
While I always found myself wanting
of hope, light or torn shreds, to hold.

And with crossed fingers, I sat,
Waiting, just like everybody else,
Waiting for life to pass by,
Perhaps waiting for someone to come;
Waiting for this season to change,
Looking for shade to hide from the sun;
Waiting for better times to come.

For blood or blissful glory,
Or for completely new lines
For an old bitter story.
For justice of words,
For sinful vengeance or God above;
An ode or a requiem,
A little something for long lost love!

And while I waited,
I forgot about footprints in the sand,
And yet I felt the burden of ages,
Upon the lines of fate,
Lines drawn in the palm of my hand;
And I just sat there hoping,
Hoping for justice, in a lawless land.

A Plea For Help

You know how I’m going to end?
I’ll die dissatisfied.
That’s what is going to happen.
I’ll spend my entire life like this.
Looking for things,
Connecting them.
And eventually, I’ll realize that it was never the answer to anything.

We’re meant to learn to love and to be kind;
To heal and to help heal.
And here I am,
Collecting things,
Like souvenirs;
As if I could always carry them around,
Or wear them
Like a prize perhaps.

I know, I tend to know,
I always do.
But I have so much inside
Which is neither focused nor channelized;
And it oozes out of me,
Like blood out of a pin sized prick,
My thoughts are everywhere.
All over the place.
And I need help controlling them.
Please help.
Save my soul.