Message

She sent me a message
And I replied
So she sent me another one
And I amplified
that by telling her clearly that
I had absolutely no intention of
engaging in any kind of uncivilised
discussion and that my husband
might be rather disappointed if
he ever found out.

But I clicked the link open
And took a look at her pictures.

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IS

Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the world that’s around us
Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the wonders unseen

Is there ponies and bunnies and lions and tigers?
Is there flowers and pine trees and apples and berries?
Is there rivers and oceans with fish swarming in them?
Is there stars in the sky and a sun shining brightly?

Yes there is, child, yes there is.

Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the world that’s around us
Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the tales untold

Is there children like me and mothers like you are?
Is there friends to be found and relationships formed?
Is there love to be sought, is there love to be given?
Is there people who care and who aid those in need?

Yes there is, child, yes there is.

Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the world that’s around us
Oh tell me, mama, ’bout the cry of our people

Is there sadness and pain and grief and depression?
Is there hunger and greed, mistrust and deception?
Is there violence, cruelty, wars and oppression?
Is there death and disease and abuse and rejection?

Yes there is, child, yes there is.

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IN

Drinking sinners grin in casinos
Adrenaline brings addicting El Niños
Blinding lines, fine shining things
Swindle fine mannequins in strings
Bingers find coins in thin trickling fountains
Promising winnings indicate mountains
Intelligent beings mingling sincerely
Intimate pinnacles drain finances finally

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Happiness

If I did a thing or two today
I might be happy
But do I want to be happy?
Why not remain my old, miserable self?
What if I live for pain and agony
And stand to fight the bigotry of happy people?

Happiness is a self-proclaimed ultimate goal
But nobody knows what it is
Or where it comes from
Each of us seems to interpret happiness
In our own way
Too often looking at other people’s joys
And trying to incorporate them into our own lives

What if misery and struggle
Are my own kind of happiness?
I do not reject them;
I find comfort in reminiscing about the old days
All the times when I had it rough
And survived

It gives me strength to go on
And move forward with my life
It also gives me strength
Not to seek happiness all the time
Nor stress about not being happy enough
But instead to savour the moment of failure
And to truly accept my needs

Now I sound like a bigot myself.
In the end, we all are.
Trying to cope with life the way we see it fit
Intolerant towards alternate interpretations.

Sorry

How much I want you to just say “sorry”
More than anything in the entire world
No explanations, no deceptions
Just “sorry”, and not another word.

No new solutions to the matters
No outcomes you had preferred
No tales of outlandish nature
Just “sorry”, and not another word.

Down with your silly little squabbles
Down with the insults that you blurred
Down with your love towards yours truly
Just “sorry”, and not another word.

Forget the alibis at your disposal
All the mistakes that had occurred
All the unfair accusations—
Say “sorry”, and not another word.

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In the summer
There are way too many people
How can there be so many people?
Like worms, they crawl out of the ground
It must be
And suddenly, they are everywhere
On every corner, every street
All of my places of solitude are occupied
By these filthy little maggots

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My bike

May I perform a jovial dance:
Found what I seek, and more than once!
I see my bike now—what a feat!—
On every corner, every street!
Behind that car, inside that bush
Another one rides in a rush
That bike right there? It’s mine as well
And in that window, what the hell—
Through it observed, my very bike
Reflecting still, one just alike!
And in that shop, there’s one inside
Outside it—yet another ride!
And in that park, this can’t be right
So many hiding in plain sight…
I close my eyes, and still I see
A bike or two, or sometimes three
Wherever I do set my glance
I see my bike now, more than once.

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