How insane is that to say

I am going to commit suicide

just because I read the last poem of Maya?

and Im no longer nervous

like lovers inside the bus

And i have never sold myself to a god or church

I'm alone and busy finding myself alone

O Poets of my times!

Who told you

These mountains dont sing

They sing in pebbles, my kind of fables

of being loved and used and thrown

Clear you ears, Poets!

they are filled with voices of fearness.

Let me mourn for a while

The cat has stopped drinking my milk

The dog has gone mad and never gonna bark at me

Let me mourn till the morning comes

and welcome me to my bed

Long ago a mosquito kissed at my eyes

whispering “im taking away your sleep from your eyes”

since then i have been awake and hungry

and every where i look around

I see unhappy people

some are aiming through a broken lens of telescope

some are listening to humanity through the broken stethoscopes

Unhappy people, they make me unhappy

Unhappy Artists, they make me grow my moustache

Unhappy singers, they make me sick

Unhappy lovers, They make me see filling forms

No comments: