Are You That?


That you needed, from a lifeless person,

You have already created it, with your hatred.

Or the basic amenities that any living person needs?

Look around your surroundings, they are still breathing.

You know why? They are happy. Happy with all they’re jumping.

They know where to jump and to stand still.

Point out every object and create a function.

You will need them. Can you?

Or, you are that person? Are you that?

Are you that person, who spawns gunpowder to kill livings?

As they think, peace comes from carnage

Peace is always a state of mind.

This isn’t happening, from the day you changed your mind.

Make it possible, be a change of hatred.

Don’t be like “Are You That”.



Heard about you last night,

With the pictures in your hand,

Beside the knife, battled.

Wave those arms and wait for the end,

As it falls for anything,

Feeling free and waking up,

To heal the wounds,

Much more than that, you survived,

Striking the shooting star,

every time you tried to shadow yourself,

Into the light of ambush,

Stretched out with cities of the future,

Going up with 100 memories,

Falling back with counting backwards,

Towards the negative infinity,

Seeking out every noise,

Into the desolation,

Twisted drama to integrate,

You left away making everyone higher. 



Perfect Moment
You were amazing,I had the time of my life with you ∏

Tremors and remorse all that was witnessed,

Some had a bulk or had a sullen face,

                                             With great divide and green grass,

Stairs and escalators with indistinct nightmares;

Some didn’t climb but some were ardent,

With the bicycle running down the ramp,

There’s no break of their heart,

It pumped and bumped making no noise,

Some didn’t hear or some did felt it;


That was all I witnessed with a girl next to me,

She felt the same to accompany me,

Inside the same cabin of death,

we drilled our self to hear the schizophrenic sound,

Of indistinct vitality air from the notes of the last chapter.


 That was all you would know,

With the passing of your life,

On a hyper-lapse of memory,

It’s obscurity till you occupy it,

To erase the time of innocence.

From winter to fall,

Till crunching of Brown leaves,

On a ground full of yellow wood.

Other’s being senile of insanity,

You are there with that voice,

For preoccuping the incoherent darkness.