Very much like Monet’s Haystacks, I too,

Am a meaningless plain piece of art.

An art with no definition, no sense,

No value, no elucidation, and no drift.


Like always, I’ve lost my purpose, so now,

Significance is what I seek for myself.

Though senseless and broken art, I am, but,

What purpose does a broken art really have?



Alas, my purpose lies within Your hands,

You, my Lover, my Messiah, my Helper.

I require you to piece me back together,

And give me purpose, wisdom and depth.


Only You, can understand a broken art,

An artist so anguished, scarred and broken.

You perceive the weight of a meaningless art,

You, who has fallen and has been battered.



You, an artist who can look into my eyes,

And relate to the pain I’m going through.

You, who didn’t create something musing,

Rather something only you understood.



For me, You are the art, I need.

And, You are the artist, I seek.




Plenty years have now passed and,

I’m still conflicted with my thoughts.

It seems my heart and my mind,

Are stuck in a circle of endless disputes.

I wish I could tell you how lost I feel,

Either with my words or with my efforts.

Like amidst a crowded subway, I reel,

Or forsaken in an eternal gloomy forest.

And my thoughts have made me be,

Perpetually scared of my own image.

Controlled by my mind – don’t you see,

I’m forced to don a coward’s visage.

Now I don’t think I even remember,

The last time when I openly smiled.

And I don’t think I even remember,

The last time I felt a sense of delight.

So I hang myself with the incoming flow,

‘Cause I’m not sure what’s real anymore.

I’ve forgotten the feeling of being close to,

Another human or that person I adore.

Why don’t you believe me when I profess,

That I genuinely feel eminently useless.

My deeds, my words are all meaningless,

So without further ado I wish to confess.

I confess I am not sure who I want,

I confess I am not sure what I want.

I confess I long for an eternal hiatus,

I confess I long for a serene quietus.

I deserve for you to turn away,
I was ashamed to speak your name.
I won’t take much of your time,
Just enough for you to save me.


We human beings are animals,

Filthy, sadistic and downright disgusting.

Some normal and some cannibals,

Trying to exist in peace by simply adjusting.

We all get up every morning,

Then put on a tie and slap on a smile.

Unaware of when we’d be mourning,

Pushing away happiness and forced to exile.

We are always in an endless race to chase,

Excellence, beauty and indefinite perfection.

Neglecting the idea that we could also embrace,

The grandeur and magnificence of imperfection.

It would be about time if we realize,

Death is eternal and so is depression.

Existence is transient and everyone dies.

Also happiness is a mere hallucination.

We always blame the unknown,

For all the fuck ups in our life.

And endless sins we must atone,

To earn safe haven in the afterlife.

We all wonder if the world would be,

A better place without our existence.

So now that I’m stuck under life’s debris,

I embrace that I’m drawn to madness.

“We seek to attain hiatus from all the pain and the pathetic life we live.”
- At least I do.

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