Why?

why do we pretend to be someone else, when we are NOT?

Is sincerity meant only for others, not within ourselves?

Are feelings so less of worth, to be faked of at will?

Is self respect a thing to be admired, NOT to be followed?


Sometimes I feel sick of meeting and being with bodies,

Bodies, which are slaves to the cravings of the flesh.

Anger they show, in the most primeval sense,

scared of everything, but primarily of the brain.


In this meaningless world, I live and breathe!

Always a stranger and an outsider,never to be counted.

As an empty vessel on a vast ocean, I float along,

bumping into a wave here,rolling with another there.


Yearn I do, for a soul with the purity of purpose,

that which is afraid of nothing but itself.

May be, Im the wrong man at the right times,

or the right man at the wrong times.


A spark rises occasionally, here and there,

Taking my hopes along, far higher.

Only to flicker and die out later,

And back i return, to my slumber.