Sunday, November 20, 2011


I am a sick man. I am a spiteful man. I wake and sleep in fitful nights of half dreams. My life is now a meaningless math problem. One that has no point in your later life. It all feels like a lie. I put on faces to meet the faces I meet. Something seems to be missing. Something so big, that everything else feels empty without it. Silence has become the only companion I trust these days. And yet, I deal in the business of words. Every second, every hour I speak more to myself; voices screaming within. Its like living with a coke fuelled imaginary friend. My mother thinks I might go mad like this. My father has already suggested a psychiatrist. But till then, I continue to wake up in the morning, dress up and go to work.

Friends at work think I am fine. I keep smiling, making jokes, laugh a little. Its funny how funny you can get, when you are burning up inside. Everything inside me feels like everything I hate. Something has to give. Sometime now, anytime now. I don’t know when. I just don’t.

I have tried to change it. I tell you, I have tried. Eat well, exercise. I have run alone in winter mornings, hoping the rush of blood would do my brain some good. All I get is tired. Each run is weaker than the last one. I have gotten back on the sticks. At least, it stops the feeling eating me inside.

 I wake up with an unspoken rage. I want to kill, maim. I want to throw everything out the window. I want to feel pain; to scream like no one will hear me. I want to destroy something beautiful. Or I want something to destroy myself with. 

Friday, November 11, 2011


Scream!! Talk!! Shout out.. Say it.. spell it.. Now is your chance.. I have heard you speak for ages and ages without end. I have tolerated your grumbling voice of dissent. Everytime I slipped into the silence of crowds, I could hear your voice follow me down. Chasing me like dogs down an empty street early in the morning. Every syllable haunting, every thought crowding in on my senses.

You… You intolerable bastard, dog of my conscience, inglorious bastard.. Speak now. This is your chance. How long have I tolerated you? How many times have I pleaded you to shut up? Did you? Did you ever listen to me? NO!! Now speak. Speak till your lungs cry for air and the words dry up on your tongue. You have made me wander streets muttering words to myself like a lunatic. I remember days when I ran around, looking for a pen like an addict. And all the time, I could hear your voice screaming within my heads. Pushing against the walls of my skull, bursting out… Speak now. Why so silent?

I am tired now. I am more alone than I ever was. I hate to say this, but your voice, your pathetic, crowing complaining voice, is what I miss. At times, when the world seems too much with itself; I need someone to grumble within. I need that spark of fire to rail against the universe, to fight, desperately. Something to stir me on. So speak.. No, Scream, till your lungs fall out.
 What is with the silence? Why do I hear no more cries? No more mutterings, or insanely genius verses of poetry?

My muse, My vision, My sight, My voice… My conscience…. Why hast thou forsaken me now?