He walks alone on the streets
 Undeterred by rain and frost
 Gaze fixed straight ahead
 His eyes alone can reduce cities to dust
 No establishment is too big for him
 No rules could hold him back
 He walks with a rage unseen
 Following the stars in the sky
 Gods and Kings will collapse
 When the ocean inside his heart pours out
 The emptiness echoes within
 But when he speaks only fire comes out
 Behind his mask tears build up
 Anarchy is for lovers
 This one lost one up
 His palm itches to hold his comrade's
 They are one,in spirit
 But he is alone for now
 Ready with a gun to destroy order
 And release what society most fears,



She Is Like A Shadow In The Dark

I walked away from the taxi, while its driver stared at me suspiciously, to one of the most infamous, dark and dingy locales of the city. I had followed the woman all the way from the party to what i presumed was her house. The area was known for its high crime rates and a woman walking down the road past midnight all alone made me worried and curious. She had captured my attention right from the moment she had walked into the room. She looked different from most other girls, her mannerisms, her make up; she looked like a sore thumb sticking out. To add to the fact was her lack of interest in her surroundings; there was something distinctly cold and distant about this young lady. So when she abruptly left the party and left her handbag on the couch I took it upon myself to return it to her and maybe get to know this peculiar character better.

I walked into the building which looked fairly old and was poorly lit and immediately caught a putrid stench emanating from within the building. Strange flickering lights decorated most of the interiors and there were blackened stains on every wall. I guessed it was Tobacco but the stench and atmosphere suggested something far more sinister-or disgusting. A fat lady dressed in a pale green dress sat behind a table in a large chair counting a stack of notes.

“Not many girls available” She muttered without even looking up at me.

“Umm I came here to return this handbag to a young lady who just came to a party” I replied catching a drift of where exactly I was.

“You mean Cindy?” She asked.

“I don’t know her name. But she was wearing a black dress.”

She made me sit in the room till ‘Cindy’ came out of her ‘office’. The lady meanwhile tried to indulge me in a conversation which began with a “Cindy is the youngest here so extra charge on her. They say she is really talented with her mouth.” and upon refusal made its way into “Do you like Heroin? We have the best Garad in the entire city.”

Finally she arrived. I walked toward her with a wry smile and handed her the handbag. I knew who she was now, I knew why she appeared so cold and distant. Behind the make up and gloss was a sad face that spoke of abuse and neglect. She had changed into more casual clothes and looked worn out and tired. I noticed her hands as she took the purse, there were deep scars on them; self inflicted wounds they were.

“What is your name?” I asked her.

“Cinderella” She replied.

“Is that your real name?”

“I forgot my name. This is what they call me here and on the street.”

“Well do you want her or not? We charge people even if they only want to talk. Mostly old men do that.” The fat woman, who I believed was the ‘madame’ of the house interjected with her loud abrasive voice.

I ignored her and addressed Cinderella again,”How old are you?”

She just stared back at me with empty eyes while her mistress got up off the chair and started walking towards me. I walked away towards the door and could hear her screaming expletives at me and Cinderella all the way till I reached the main street. I wondered about Cinderella all night after that. The emptiness of her eyes, the scars on her hand and thought about the deeper much more damaging scars that I could not see- the scars of ostracization. I wondered if she had a real family. I wondered why she was here and where she was from. Does she have dreams in her life? Are they big ambitions like most others had or is a loving family and social acceptability her only dream? For society she is a taboo, a thing to be looked away from and banished. She is an expletive. Her beauty is exploited day in and day out by men who care not a bit for her and women who keep her in a state of shell shock and absolute misery take all the money away. What does future hold for such a woman? What happens when she becomes old and diseased? Who will look after her? Does she believe in God? Do the elections and the World Cup or the Olympics matter to a person like her? Or are they the reality of a different world? I wondered about her and as I closed my eyes the image of her empty and emotionless eyes flashed in my mind. Helpless and a victim of circumstance, her life is no fairy tale.

Just R.I.P

‘Respect the dead!’

They say

It is a virtue much desired by many

They paint their suicide victims 

As some kind of angels or saviours

Why? Why respect the dead?

Why respect a pile of rotting meat?

It is not going to benefit anyone

Especially the carcass you pay respects to!

Let’s instead focus on what’s alive

Let’s not let the lives of those around rot

While we pay respects to dead meat

Out of some kind of a social obligation 

Don’t mourn someones death

Celebrate their life instead 

What’s the point of treating someone like shit 

And when they die offer them prayers?

What is the subtext of this?

Are you telling people that the only way to be respected

Is to die? Isn’t that pro-suicide?

Don’t let the lives of people go waste

Don’t ignore the cauldrons of talent, love and hope

Don’t let them go unheard…

P.S. This meme hits the nail on the topic as well! From a different angle though


The Sadism We Never Speak Of 

They sat across the room from me
Reading a daily
Discussing an article
A man had stabbed his wife
Following a spat
‘He should be hanged’
They said
‘He should be beheaded in public’
‘Drag the bastard with ropes through the streets’
‘Drop him in an acid pool and let him melt off’
‘Chop his balls off’
It was ridiculous listening to ‘civil’ people
Getting creative with their sadism
Makes me wonder
Is it the man who’s in the paper the one with a criminal mind

Or is it the ones who discuss ‘justice’?

The Victim

A man stood at the bridge
It was evening and the city was busy
Beneath him was a roaring traffic
He had finally found love
Breathing in the air
Enjoying the evening sun
Filled with joy
Awaiting the beginning of a new life
A hobo on the street below noticed him
And soon a group formed
People started gathering under the bridge
Just to see what the bustle was about
The man is about to commit suicide!
The number of onlookers increased
Soon the man noticed the group below
Pointing their cell phones at him
Ready to capture the shocking moment
The next viral video on the Internet
The next hot topic for teenagers
Man caught on camera jumping to his death
Media persons soon followed suit
And the traffic came to a halt
Everyone quite
Everyone looking up
Formulating stories about his past life
The crowd grew restless
Why won’t he jump?
Is he a coward?
The man watched them all with utter confusion
Jump! Said someone
Jump! They all said
The man stared back in disbelief
A procession of priests was passing by
Seeing the commotion
One of them grabbed the man
Slapped him, punched and kicked him
Can you not understand the value of your life you young rascal?!
Suicide is a sin!

It was in the papers next day
The priests had saved a man
Changed his life forever
They were the heroes
Please fund their institution
The man was put into rehab
A politician promised to look after him
His family was paid monetary compensation
And they made a suicide help organisation
To help people like the victim…

Mental Abortion: The Beautiful People

I have great sympathy for for the physically deformed. You rarely see them in public and whenever you do, they always try to run away from the hostile crowd.

Does a persons personality have anything to do with their appearance? Does physical appearance have anything to do with a persons behaviour or intellect? Do people who are physically good looking actually get away with fallacies than the ones who are not as good looking? As much as I hate generalising, I have been repeatedly forced to think in these directions. The argument that feminists often make with regards to the unrealistic standards of beauty set by society and how women are forced to pander to them and hence indulge in behaviour that they label ‘sexual objectification’ has always seemed to me extremely immature. Many feminists claim that it’s the patriarchy which forces women to indulge in skin show. Again I found this argument highly ridiculous however the question of whether our personalities are modelled based on how we are treated by other people which in turn is highly influenced by how attractive you seem to them, maybe just maybe a persons attractiveness might actually influence their personality to a certain extent. Does this mean that those who are physically attractive are at a higher social advantage and the ones who are not very attractive and are hence rendered less favourable by many have to suffer all their lives? Maybe not.

I stumbled upon an impressive quote by Friedrich Nietzsche, a refutal of Social Darwinism (power to the socially advantaged and oppressing the disadvantaged):
Every progress of the whole must be preceded by a partial weakening. The strongest natures retain the type, the weaker ones help to advance it. Something similar also happens in the individual. There is rarely a degeneration, a truncation, or even a vice or any physical or moral loss without an advantage somewhere else. In a warlike and restless clan, for example, the sicklier man may have occasion to be alone, and may therefore become quieter and wiser; the one-eyed man will have one eye the stronger; the blind man will see deeper inwardly, and certainly hear better.

Shattered Dreams

There was much chaos in the city
Someone is stealing our bulbs!
The stores were robbed first
Then the houses nearby
People unhappy
The robberies spread
Small they were, but annoying
Leaving people in darkness momentarily
The government should do something
Said an unhappy shopkeeper
He had candles burning in his bangles store
Robbery is a great sin, God will punish the thief
Said the temple priest
He never spoke of the issues of the city
But now his own backyard had been robbed of its light
We will look into the matter
Said the policeman
As the journalist wrote it down
Disinterested, trivial news it was
Nonetheless bulbs were being stolen
One night there was a flame
Outskirts of the city, the poor mans colony
And people arrived on the scene
A hundred bulbs lay on the ground
In a circle, perfectly round
Attached by wires to a generator
But it was an old one
And had caught a fire
They put it out
And found a boy standing nearby
Crying, looking at the mess…

The thief had been caught!
He was taken to custody
A slum boy of seven
Verbally impaired, ugly and dishevelled
An orphan with no future
The police held him responsible for the robberies
They asked him why he had stolen them
With tears in his eyes
The boy pointed at the moon
They put him behind bars
There were no windows
He sat and stared at the bulb in his cell
He couldn’t see the moon anymore
Neither the shattered bulbs…