Yellow Backdrop (I'd be Waiting)

In this place of darkness,
I’d be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be future or future would be people,
whether rooms can get smaller or bigger,
I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if it means imprisonment,
I’ll be waiting even if ivory tusks
bore through the darkness of my enigma.
I’d be waiting even if it means insane solid confinement.
I can go through miles of galaxies or blackholes,
I can walk across the fields of daffodils
and red burns of roses,
I can drink gore and savor torture,
enjoy the everyday violence and even spear myself
of the Pyramid Head’s hell... I’ll still be waiting.
I will never be sure, and I may never ever,
I may see rooms of larks and crescents of drunken twilight,
of the horizons and medieval canopies of snow and autumn,
I may drown myself with nicotine patches and xeric drinks,
I may find myself wandering amidst social possibilities...
But I’d still be waiting.
I’ll be waiting even if mantras become whispers spoken
to haunt people like it never used to.
I’ll be waiting even if rebirth wanders
the mystical wheels of time and space and miracles.
I’ll be waiting even if words collide, even if poems
become shenanigans of people to express political and social mockery.
I’ll be waiting until frantic rhymes with optimism,
until the winds become the waters.
I’ll be waiting even if it means alternate
realities of metal and nature.
I’ll be waiting until I come out with gray tresses and yellow eyes.
I’ll be waiting even if it means knocking on heaven’s door.

In this place of darkness,
I’ll be waiting.
Through the starkness of desolation’s furnace,
whether people would be people
and future would be past,
I’d still be waiting.
I can go on and on with words
and I can start making verses all over again...
You may never come but I’d still be waiting.

Not Me Not

More than its unplugged mysteries,
Hungry of poetic words that seem to never end
How is it supposed to go on and on,
When there is nothing at all?
In its mystery
In the lines that create the world
How oddities come before heaven
Its scent
Its taste –
Clouds seems to rip apart the woes of the world
And there is nothing to hold on to
The mysteries of oddities
The oddities of mysteries –
It shall never be same,
And yet unplugged as it is,
We never seem to wonder
We never seem to notice
That each trance is a step towards suicide
How wonderful and lecherous,
How mysteries unfold like same old stories
How wretchedness wash itself anew
That wolves stray onto the ripples that they make
That wolves moan at the sound of its silence
Mouthing each other’s names
Its frustration,
Its journey
How verses can go freely unnoticed,
That they substitute love with reason,
And reason substitutes nothing
Nothing but fulfillment –
That within each unplugged mysteries,
There shall be no same frustration
No melancholy
No coffee
Not me not.

Coldness Goodbye

Vexed as the sun goes down
Sown to your curse – hexed
Two more to picture you
Who goes beyond what you do
Rising to its familiarity
Cruelty loves your whining
Inching down to its flesh
Fresh waters to dry its feeling

Thriving Nietzsche

Showing Nietzsche in the magazine is okay,
and I want to put up with your vagrant story;
that is if the pragmatics will lead him for the homicide
So yes I have realized that,
that you have some expertise;
so define the laws of necessity in the cliche` kind of words -
it's clear in fact...
Beyond good and evil
dwells somewhere in my mind
And if nihilism is a word to connect me to you
then maybe I'll be Hitler himself

But I saw you on the park the other day,
talking to your friends;
standing awake in the afternoon
And so I thought Nietzsche was already on the radio
I want to be there too...
I want to be someone else to pay my dues
and I'm going to give what I have
to your vagrancy
So where do you go to?
Will you still be here, so I can picture you
and me
against the world?

They say smoking is bad for your health
But still can we be more than just this
or something to that effect
Fanatics tell me to find new prospects
but how can I find one when there's nothing else?

And so I stared at the celing
shrouding gazes and so I was dazed
by the mere solemn fact of vainness
but here I am to make more verses for you
Only you -
Have I ever convinced you?