Poem No.1Depressed
Am a dismantled motherboard,
Sold at a cheaper expense,
Hotter than the lower mantle,
Taken as a pressure,
To the mental system,
An ill agent to the society norms,
Who’ll buy me?
Who’ll mount me?
Am a dismantled motherboard,
Ignored and stored,
In a dirty room,
Taken as a hectic component,
Yet the system unit was the opponent,
Posing disastrous issues,
On the entire networking,
Deteriorating the functioning unit,
Now thrown as rubbish,
Who’ll pick me up?
Am a dismantled motherboard,
The unsettled me,
The useless me,
I’ve no power,
Dumped in darkness,
Without communication,
The background of connection,
Have I lost value?
It wasn’t me,
I didn’t breakup,
Who’ll mount me up?
Am a dismantled motherboard,
Am functional behind secrecy,
Am ambitious and cautious,
With legitimacy and supremacy,
Come rescue me,
From a deserted room,
A forsaken room,
My voice hearken,
Am an industrious software,
To support greyware,
Come pick me up,
Who’ll mount me up?
Poem No.2
Saturday morning drill
(A word or two from a brother, a friend)
Like laughter
lift the spirit,
water oils the body.
While sport get the
mind positively engaged.
Please stay hydrated,
avoid carbonated
or spirited liquors
as much as doable.
Other than
the high cost
of fixing one’s health,
it is stressful keeping
up with the doctors.
Join a sports club,
walk awhile, walk a yard,
walk a mile you won’t die.
Join a reading club,
keep the phones away
keep the remote away
stay away from the screens
at least, for awhile
you won’t die still.
Forgive
your losses,
learn your lessons.
Engage
strangers warmly,
and market nothing,
not even your religion
but ‘candidly-ness’.
Trust
friends, family
and neighbours
more than you do,
your Rabbis.
Trust
your intuitions
even more, lean
credence to curiosity
and the voice of fear
and flee strange strangers.
Keep
in touch
with family and friends,
not only on phone or social media.
Greet with warm
embrace and words
not with mimes and emojis.
Reach out warmly
to friendly neighbours,
and wish hostile ones
well, afar.
Above all,
compete positively
and play like a kid,
we once were.
Amuse your amazing
self with little exuberances
here and there and
avoid over indulgence.
You won’t die!
At least, not in awhile
Poem No.3
I WILL WRITE
Call me liar
A pompous
Or rather a seasonal poet
I will still write
Until I can hold the pen no more
As long as I live
My ink will flow like The Read Sea
Felicity and flaws the world will see
Go on
Judge me
Squelch my soul
Rip my emotional scars apart
With all sorts of revilement
I will still write
To undress the truth
Lay bare the nudity of lies
The world must see it’s decayed bosom
I am The Mirror
That echoes memories
Crush me down
Each cracked piece
Will reflect broken realities
I will not fight
But I will write
My pen will bleed
Souls will be freed
Through my ink there will be light
Like a candle burning through the night
I will lose myself so others can find themselves
Like a tailor with a burning lantern
I will sew broken hearts back to wholeness
I will pour myself out like rain
Fill the empty souls again
Broken hearts will find solace in my words.
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