The Victim

On this pier walking past the memories
that conjure up deluged with the remnants of love
far away secluded
for me
the world looks so plebeian
dancing to three powers that made it a mere marionette
no disdain
no love
no care
no fear
apathy it is
the power reminds me how mortal we are
how assiduously we follow the rythm
I leave this place dry with no blood and a story to tell
without a kindred one to abdicate my throne to.
His sable eyes look through- perplexed with the
equable climate,floundering helplessly he finally
reaches the sacred place where
the inscriptions of blood speak !!
from the stench of failure came a catharsis
genesis of a contempt for lives caught in the vale of love
a blinding light which rose above me showing the face behind its facade.
"sucess" the inscription read !!!
doors opened to the road flanked by graves on both sides
every epitaph read the same as I walked on
the path intrepid
"The Victim "

And What now ?

Everything turned topsy-turvy.
Nothing worked-
Neither KAL HO NAA HO Sharukh nor
The Munna’s jaadu ki jhappi.

I never bore this gloom,
as if its end of the whole thing.
Some patted me for growing up,
some cursed me to death for the rupture.
Probably I am a little crazy, immature, and/or neurotic all on my own.


Driven, but prone to moments,
whine and mope are awfully emotional to turn around.
 Be it for the most rational person ever.


But again, the natural instinct of marketers never change even in relations,
unless Pareto’s thumb rule is applied satisfactorily.
Nevertheless, it is too harsh of choice to be ridicule.
Yet I am frenzy over a boy who never called.


Then Helen Keller’s happiness quote opened the doors*,
Yet again mix of emotions evoked.
But something changed-
The two swept over me and neither of them is longing.
Strange but true, as his accusations,
That I am obstinate personified.
If ever, I not let him go.


I admit at the jealous of his new life without me,
And of his happiness, but more than that I am RELIEVED
Of the great silence he vents.


He also knows, I am stuck in a stature
Vacillating between 6 and 75 year,
Throwing up temper tantrums when he ignores my texts for more than an hour,
But again drives up a wall with incessant chatter like a full weekend is ours.


I may not cook,
I may be messy
But I know what looks pretty for him.
Someone ask the dumper,
Will he find anyone like me! 

The chuckling sarcasm would
Certainly say, `that would be a point'. 

*“When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” ~ Helen Keller.