I'm Just a Bird

I am a bird lost in the world of two legged giants,

They call themselves human,

Last I heard they forgot humanity.

God, you must have been mistaken,

when you created human.

Little by little they occupied our planet,

you said it was an evolution

well dear god its your self destruction.

I hope you are still here to see what you have done,

Its only begun but worse is yet to come.

I am just glad to come to an end of my misery,

Crushed by human is not an ideal situation,

But I am just a tiny bird in your creation.

Death of a Poem

A dog with a golden boot
Like a vixen in a shiny suit
Sleeps in a plush blue sheet
But feeds on a rotten root
Baths in a pool of milk
But drinks the piss of freak
Still he is happy as geek
Knowing he will die next week
Wake up you son of bitch
Life is really full of hitch
Tell her you want to ditch
Because she is a sexy witch
Buck up and break the mould
Face it like brave and bold
No matter how weird it sounds
Time is something you can not hold
Make sure you leave the world
At least with a heart of gold.

A Time To Kill

Killing time is mankind's oldest nightmare. Even though nightmare is not the word which covers all aspects of the idea. I am writing this to kill time at Victoria coach station, London, waiting for my bus to Glasgow. The place is swarming with impatient passengers, eager to go to their destinations, forgetting the great joy of journey they are pursuing!

Just when I am trying to concentrate, there goes a damn coffee machine, steaming a cup of cappuccino. In a way its immoral of me to curse the coffee machine because the desk I am writing on is owned by the shop with strict warning "Customers only". No, I haven't bought anything from the shop and still enjoying the benefit of firm stainless steel desk.

I can't help but to levitate this situation. How often we want to rip the benefits without putting any productive efforts, and still curse our fate, god and government for the lack of comfort in our life. If there ever was a civilization where such an act is crime then I reckon I would be hanged till death. The paper I'm using is from dustbin of Croydon library. The pen is from Menzies hotel and of course I mentioned about the desk! So what's the difference between me and a thief who steals embodiments of matter such as cash and gold. Not in kind, just in degrees.

Enough about me and my philosophical dilemma. Let's look around and see what other passengers are doing to kill their time. A Chinese man in his thirties, sitting next to me is slurping pot noodles. Either he is hungry which is quite obvious or he is just missing home. In front of him is a man in his late fifties, who has decided to sleep through the waiting period, without realising that pearls of time are slipping from his limited quota of time. A man in far left is drowned in recycled tree daubed with ink and bullshit - newspaper. Its very cynical definition, but its more about selling copies than awakening the society. Not entirely newspaper's fault. Its the world we chose to live in. Majority of the people actively avoid reality and embrace fantasy.

My departure is still an hour away, I can go on scribbling about my observation in coach station. I'll just wrap up my affairs now because I'm sure you have lot of stuff waiting to kill time with. But before you leave, let me ask you to do one thing.

Try to do at least one thing a day which your heart truly wants to do without censorship of logical mind. Again, I am talking about the heart without malice and lust, which is still beating in everyone but we stopped checking the pulse ever since we killed the kid inside us.