Tomic Riter

Tag: absurd

  • An update.

    Few more lines written in journal this evening. Now, time to take a break, smoke a cigarette, listen to piano music in the dissecting silence of this cold night. I wish I wore lesser and felt freer. Of course the act won’t set me free, but better to feel that feeling before I am dead and gone. A book shall be out by December end or January coming year – a book of prose. For unknown reasons, I keep coming back to all this writing business like it does matter to me. I do not know if it matters to me. I might be just another hypocrite. Whatever the case be, I have been writing without a break since two months. It’s surprising how I can bend the language in my way and churn out one sentence after another even after all this time. Grateful for it.

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  • Why indeed.

    Why talk in beautiful verses when I am gifted with such a foul mouth?

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  • The trick.

    the trick is to leave the poem alone,
make it an orphan by choice

the trick is to treat a poem
like an open wound
left to rot on some maniac's thighs
held captive in a abandoned asylum

and finally, you come around to it
after days, maybe weeks or months
or just a minute later
and you put a full stop.

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  • Before cleanliness.

    the ache continues for the fourth day
waiting for the ice to turn to water
so I can pour a bucketful over my dirty head
and begin my day
a sunny day, that's two sunny days in succession
sometimes, life can't be more rewarding 
savour the sunny days while they last
the clouds can gather around anytime and fuck you up
or be a buffoon and ignore all of it - 
the clouds, the sunny days, this life
outside, bird screeching continues
I am starving already
I feel like chopping my head off
my ashtray sits like dead jackal on my table
its many tails burnt, froth out of its many mouths
its ass destroyed by swords
it won't come alive again.

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  • This poem is just another lie.

    another evening
victim of the invisible hand
this night won't be any brighter
or colder
but colder nights are coming
coming
colder nights are coming
I am running out of songs to sing
I have been left dry in the brutal sun 
for so long
I could take my chances any night
not tonight
tonight, I am just a plain coward
scratching the surfaces
on which beautiful things grew
this poem is just another lie
I write truths only in paragraphs.

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  • Fortunate anyways.

    the fruits of time ripen before time
begin to rot
I am a witness of the decay
each evening I return home
devil has laid its hands on my appendix
and my bladder, ripping them out
there's blood on devil's hands
and pain in my eyes 
and painkilling pills clenched between my teeth
it's an otherwise pleasant sunny morning
my dining hall filled with putrid smell of garbage
the places I have never been to,
do they miss my presence?
fortunate anyways.

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  • Distractions.

    sitting
with all this pain
listening to a bitch sing like a bird
an evening wasted on drinks and food
and conversations with the ones gone
nothing lasts long enough
nothing lasts
nothing
waiting to board my bus
to somewhere
anywhere
away from all this
a new life awaits me
I keep it waiting.

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  • Past nine.

    waiting again
the only task harder than waiting
is to wait all over again
it's like
my life is jumping from one wait to the next
I am a patient animal
wounded but patient
nothing in my wounds is personal
I am a vagabond caught in the crossfire
minutes fly out of my wretched life
like bats high on helium
as I savour, alone, all the ache in my spine.

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  • After dark.

    alone
immersed in after-dark thoughts
time flew like bullets
putting in me a thousand holes
my blood out of me, down the staircase
down the drainpipes
seeping out through the door
right into the tree-roots,
into the buried filth
I see rot all around
sitting without a hair on me
what monster will I be
tomorrow morning?
I have a whole night to dream about it.

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  • Another such night.

    it was another of those nights
when I did not know of my whereabouts
another such night of intoxication
I can do better, only I lack reason
why do better when this isn't that bad
what am I trying to forget
what am I running from.

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