Sunday, July 21, 2013

If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!


I love this poem. It's inspiring and so full of wisdom. I still love this one more though! :)
I'm so thankful I had poems like these to study in my schooldays!

Saturday, July 20, 2013

Russian Grapefruit

Drawing with withdrawal
Seeing through the darkest glass
Speaking with the quietest voice
Walking with toes curling backwards
Meek toes that delude themselves into feeling like they could convince the rest of the foot to turn back
Stupid, hopeful, powerless toes
Chubby big toe barely curled up
The Cartman of the group
The realist, resigned and only too happy to lay back with it's ingrown nail
Ingrown nails in itself are stubborn little things
Realism can be so delusional in such a case
But this poem, this sorry excuse for one, it's not about my stubby toes
It's about sheep
The counting of sheep
When there seems to come no sleep
And the hill looks steep
And the mind takes a big leap
A leap of faith, so simple to take, starts to seep
This is so shallow, definitely not deep
And so I shall stow all my heavy thoughts in a heap
And get on that sheep stalking sleep jeep
And surprise hello the sweetest one, I cheekily peep
As I sowed I shall now reap
In real life I can only weep
But in my dreams your company I get to keep

Monday, July 15, 2013

Big brave bear, do you dare to bear what I dare to bare?

Brushing my mince meaty molars by the window at noontime while questioning my major meaningless morals. The nightmare phase is the best phase. The phase of inspiration, the phase where this blog is given the attention it surely must deserve.
"It's all in your head," she always so surely asserts. What does she know, for she is headless and her eyes are her nipples, her belly button the hole through which she breathes and the 3 holes southward she uses to speak with, each louder as you descend to the last smelly one. Not that I would go sniffing about. I'm just assuming it is smelly because she has bad breath when she uses her loudest hole to speak and because she can be such an all-knowing self-righteous bitch sometimes.
She takes my small soft chubby hands in her unnaturally large rough man hands and she tells me it will all make sense sooner than I can imagine it being simple enough to sweep sneakily under the wall unit when no one's looking. Dark disturbing delusions, deliciously deranged and demonic deeds, and dangerously deep dreams don't dare to desert my dear self. I love it. Misery loves company but company loves misery too, she's just too shy to admit it enough to seek it openly.
There's a reason why the Greek geeks and the Lebanese lesbians from Lisbon got along famously with the Roman ramen lover from Yemen. Geeks and lesbians make for the perfect platonic friendship. Roman ramen lovers are hard to find in Rome, but in Yemen, all you need to do is whisper the word TRUTH at 7:36:07 PM precisely, at the Square for Triangular Pyramids, and they all show up, in hooded cloaks like the death eaters.
A patch from the ceiling is about to fall off. Through the gap I can easily peer at the millions of termites that peek back at me timidly while chewing on a door, now hardly door worthy, that we so coolly ditched for a more durable one, in That Room Above. And then my sister climbs up using that ladder that creaks at every step so noisily and she says, "Let me close the gap using that door," while she fearlessly stomps the helpless little souls. And suddenly she jumps back down eyes widely wild and shrieks for she saw from the corner of her eye, a little girl in a yellow frock run by the very edge of That Room Above. I push my sister into the bathroom and say, "you must stay here to be safe," and then using a stick we've had in this house for I don't really know what useful reason, I maneuver the door so that it closes the gap that will save us from That Room Above whose ceiling is like church windows, green and red glass rectangles through which daylight and moonlight seep through, making the termites look so cool, like from a movie like Ants, or was it The Ant Bully that was cooler? As the gap is closed, the sounds start again, the continuous almost-too-quiet-to-hear-but-once-you-can-you-can't-unhear wailing. But that constitutes the normalcy of life in this house and so it's all good.
And then I'm at a love mountain that looks like a Chinese temple. There's no looking back once you choose your partner. You go all the way up and are stuck in a booth for two for all of eternity. Atleast there are eagles for company, and misery of course, sweet addictive friend of all time. I am standing near the steps, gingerly fiddling with my hair when she creeps up behind me, my man hands possessing headless love, and when I look back with complete cluelessless she says, "go on, then" and because I remember I need to tell my sister it's safe to come out of the bathroom now I say, "but I just need more time." Then she looks down at her purple stilletoes with her nipple eyes and says, "it's now or never Kamna, how much longer?" and I'm glad she doesn't see my face, a sly smile at my lips, because then I walk past her, wordlessly, with not so much as a glance at her unnaturally hairy back. I head back to the house all because there's no fridge in that bathroom or else my sister could have sustained a life while I counted the stars with my Star Scanner 3000 and telescope, (a real bargain I would pre-order off ebay) while she would sleep sitting up, no head-lolling-to-the-side problems I would have which is why I would choose to never sleep and star gaze instead in that miserable eternal love booth from which I could never escape. And then on my long run home I see from the corner of my eye, the very same yellow frock clad little girl, but she's not running anymore and so I don't need to run anymore. I slow down to a comfortable pace and get my iPod out and listen to the playlist of songs that remind me of her and the sweet misery is back, and with it, the last of the tears I would shed for her. I walk alone, homeward bound, eyes on my indigo painted toenails for a good hour and then I am outside my house. The sun is dying and the playlist is done. I delete it, take off my headphones and tie it around my iPod round and round, and then unlock the new durable door, peek at the un door worthy Room Above blocker, notice the absence of all sound and then head to the bathroom door to find my sister, fast asleep on the floor of the bathroom, her right hand a pillow to her head. Then I wake her up and say "It's fixed, she's gone, both of them" and she says "okay man, let me sleep ya." And then I go to the room, dump my iPod in my drawer, lock the door, take all my clothes off, curl up on my side right in the middle of the bed and instantly drift off to the best sleep I will ever have.

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Moar Coatz

Discover your own discontent, and be grateful, for without divine discontent, there would be no creative force.

Never give up on something you really want. It's difficult to wait but it's better than having regrets.

I wish there was a way to know you're in the "good old days" before you've actually left them.

Don't be just a means to an end. Be the end. Your end, all's end. All's well that ends well. And you're well.

When you are raw, real, and reckless about what you feel with the wrong person you will end up becoming cautious, caustic and callous towards a lot of things.

When you feel like you've failed and you're down in the dumps, it feels like you have nothing else to lose. But that is when you should realise that you having nothing to lose is when you stand in a position where there is everything to gain.

The difference between failure and success is the same as the difference between being able and being willing.

Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.

You don't need anyone who doesn't need you. Remember that, and you'll never have a reason to ever feel down.

Don't conform to what you think you are because if you do you'll feel impassive to change and you'll think what you think you are is what you ought to be which is all one big lie.

Blessed are the forgetful for they get the better even of their blunders.