Our meetings are meant to be
anonymous and in secrecy.
Where each man wears a hood
like every member should.
If one could wear his mask
it would facilitate the task.
And no names would be taken;
no introduction need be given.
Meetings are to be underground
on shady lanes with none around.
What happens there doesn’t leave;
so must each story that we weave.
While others indulge in activity
I’ll be somewhere with poetry.
Each would live and let be.
That’s spiritual enough to me!
I hate to say this but grown ups are dumb.
They’ve been blind and absolutely numb.
We’re thrown into school, convinced we’re fools,
brainwashed on assembly lines to be mere tools.
Then their dogma is shoved up our faces.
Religion converts us into life’s own disgraces.
We take up science towards in preuniversity,
because society convinces us that all else is shitty.
Then we end up in a pig sex like engineering.
Our dreams are worthless, or so we’re left fearing.
By the end of all this, we end up meeting shrinks.
By now, into our hearts hopelessness sinks.
We get a job in desperation, and work nine to five.
Can’t guarantee our ends will meet; we’ll be kept alive.
They’ll marry us off some day; we’ll end up like them.
We’ll reproduce kids like a sick man does phlegm.
Until we die a worthless death, we’re in deep shit.
I hope you enjoy all of this, every single bit.
There is a glass half-empty
and an empty cup as well.
The first is but a pity
while the other rings a bell.
If I emptied my glass
when I approach the guild,
would I, as a seeker, pass,
or just keep it half-filled?
I’ve no excuse or apology
for my half-filled glass.
I don’t seek epiphany
save, ‘This too shall pass!’
Mímír’s Well has a drink
of endless wisdom, you see.
I’ll take one fill to the brink
if it takes an eye to be free.
Prisoners of IOS, a flashy phone is all you bought.
Truth be told, you paid more for what you got.
In my hand is all I need, and a powerful tool.
Steve Jobs merely aspired to make customer a fool.
I dropped my phone a dozen times, yet it survived.
If your phone so much as touches base, it can’t be revived.
Even if to amend your phone you do proceed,
you’d have to sell yet another organ to someone in need.
My android doesn’t need an iTunes to play.
A thousand apps play piracy every day.
Any android charger’d do; can’t say so for you.
The Forbidden Fruit makes you buy a thousand others too.
You bought a phone at a laptop’s price.
But I suppose Jobs in Hell with satisfaction cries.
There are no secrets, and there is no truth.
There are no strangers, for bodies are soot.
I lie to myself again that this is alright.
It’s yet another spark to set all a light.
There’s no certain path to explore.
I’m wandering the dessert as before.
A seeker would learn: no pain can deny.
That’s all he’d do when he’s left to die.
There are no stories; not a battle call.
There’s no evil, for every god does fall.
There are no emotions or feelings to see.
There is no tear; I’m one with the sea.
I have a choice to make as I stand on cross roads.
I have a choice to make and shed all my loads.
I don’t need baggage, for baggage is heavy.
I have a choice to negotiate every tax you levy.
I’ve always had a choice; today I make my stance.
I shall forget this world and slip into a sacred dance.
I care not for judgements passed on me
by people so petty; they care not to see.
I always have a choice; I choose to be alive!
If you too made your choice, this would be a swive.
Tell the world to carry on, I choose to break free.
I don’t want to be with those who choose not to see.
Don’t beg in my neighborhood,
I’d rather you seek a job.
Begging is not something I would
because the economy it does rob.
Don’t beg on my street, my brother.
I don’t care for such vile deceit.
I care not about your false hunger.
Just get back on your strong feet!
Don’t just beg in front of me.
Take off those pointless shades.
I know that you can actually see.
But you watch as your youth fades.
Please ask me not for food.
I’d rather employ you today.
Begging is never that good.
Such men in history won’t stay.