Fucking Insanity

Insanity and me are forever real

These wounds just never seem to heal

I tried so hard to hold you all these years

You, bright eyed, left me and my insanity in tears

Do you notice any tears? No? Well that's what insanity is all about. That's what I am all about. And that's what I am gonna be all about.  

There are times in your life when you don't need to pretend anymore. Everything just swishes past by you like a rocket leaving you and your inner animal yearning for happiness while you're sitting forlorn with a black grimace as your damn perennial countenance. When wind decides to land by and render the surface with cold colours, you drop heavy salt from those dull eyes to make the surface wet and slithering. Everything and anything doesn't seem to work when you have anger, irritation, frustration and vex running through your nerves. Everything, not even the wind.

Why do I get irritated so often? 

Why am I so much temperamental when I know I don't have to be?

Why do I want to use words which I know are bad?

Why is me a strange man each day?

I spit words here with a diminished spark of finding answers; for finding a new me; with a hope of killing me. Maybe it's just a game; maybe it's just a phase; maybe it's just Love. 

This is a theory of a deadman which says I can never change your mind if it's not love. I am rather blind if I see you walking away without me. I am rather correct if my insanity is still you and I am rather seriously insane if I'll still try to hold you, even in my tears, all further years.

All of you who read this and feel sympathetic or maybe irritated are free to comment their heart here. Just say what you really feel and want me to know. Though I might not take your suggestions and philosophies seriously. You know, I'm growing with this fucking insanity of my own.  

A Racy Little Answer To The Wind

                                                                                        Picture Courtesy: Google

I walk a road less traveled by 

Wind ambles beside me with my pace

Instilling a feeling of the white cold

It slowly says, "Hey there. It's a race!"

To which I reply, "Not with me, my end ain't defined yet, in bold!"

Just.A.Goodbye To His Diary

It's all about reality; I see
Colors of light shimmering weakly in me
You stand facing the light; showing me the dark
I count rays uniting in me to shoot a spark

It's not about hope, it's not about faith, it's just about fucking reality which is taking you away from me into the brightness which was once a part of me and I'm here without you facing this indifferent world, closing upon me. Go on, fly away.

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This was the last thing Martin wrote before throwing me away into glowing fire burning beside him to protect him from cold. I wonder if he wants the two of his saviors to unite. I realize, as I watch him leaving me, he's getting stronger and he's getting himself back to his own road where he used to walk alone but steady. Is this a new beginning for him? Is this a start to make a new end?
This fire is eating me, my hope, my determination to be with him in every despondent and exuberant hour of his life. The creator, as you all know, is the destroyer too. It's just my end, not his. So I guess, I'm happy.  

It's a long lonely road when he knows he has to walk alone but, it's surely gonna change the end for he's made a start again.

As he walks leaving me in flames, I want you all to carry my last words to him:

Even if you walk so fast 

You still can't change your past

Everything turns

And changing times would earn

Enough brightness and light you yearn

To cover the dark spots and carry you

In the arms of a new reality and imagination

So that you never choose to write me, again.  

Everything must have an ending, this time it's me. I go with a promise that I'll get back to you. 

~ Martin's Diary, 1st July ,1991.

PS - Read all what Martin's Diary told: Martin's Diary Tells..

As I Walk By..

                                                                                  Picture Courtesy: Google

Thread of indelible memories gets spuned as I walk by this moment
I realize, brittle pieces of time are filled with disparate tunes
And there's a new song and a new feeling for every moon.

A Little Heavy Tear..

Eyes go shiny when your small palpable pumping machine fills with heavy burdens of sadness and forlorn. A drop of liquid falls onto a sheet of paper, it turns it hollow and translucent but when that drop is made by your eyes, it creates a circular hollow pot of emotions on the very paper. This one reads:

With the impetuous spell of love, he plays
Seldom does he stop and stares
At his tormented heart and cracked mind
Love's a bloody sweet poison which makes time go blind

I crawl by his face whenever his heart feels sad
Holding onto the surface I make my way
Towards his lips which sadly shape upside
Loneliness eating away his inside
I stream out when he never called me beside

With splinters of his sadness and remorse
I get washed away by his desperate hand
Trying to conceal my presence to the earliest
He splays me all over his skinny face
I leave him unloaded and hollow
With a hope that happiness is now what he'll swallow

This is not a rhyme; neither a poem
Just a little diaphanous shedding
And I'm his little tear which streams down
When his beautiful eyes swell out
With abundance of emotions and sentiments


If I was an ocean, he could drown in me.
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I wish to dry myself in the brittle pieces of his shiny eyes. Weeping is an activity of getting rid of vehemence and paroxysm of sadness, happiness and chagrined times. I'm the little one who knows the story hidden deep inside. Hope I get washed away from your face as soon as you make me.


PS - I'm crazy, this post is crazy and same is the story of my tears which are more or less useless and unnoticed. And now I fucking don't care because it's alright; it's okay, I'm so much better without these salty pieces.