lying among the rubble and dust
too long have I been for a human touch.
A contact that would set me free of
the burden that I carry within; dense, dark and useless.
He kicked me once, the inquisitive little kid.
as far as I could go, I went. Laying there as I was,
crude and unwanted again.
He kicked me twice, a hard poke on my sharp edge
I rolled over a few times, ending up by the gutter’s side.
Maybe he wanted a soul-less company
with which he didn’t share any feelings as such.
And I was happy to be, I was so stupid and stone-like to see.
Wasn’t it obvious when he kicked me the n’th time?
No, it wasn’t. I’m clingy and I felt his inconsideration
throughout this forlorn rant put down not as rhyme.
lying among the rubble and dust,
just altered in position and place.
He looked at me once with all passions at rest
and boy I could not forget his face.
As I lay there as an unwanted stone
just in the eerie coldness of the curb
and at the entry of his lovely home.
The soothing sound of the loner’s voice was nowhere to be heard
deprived of regrets and sorrow which he left aloof as choice.
He bore no burden of the possibilities he missed as it seemed fit;
sinfully proud and happy was this sensitive and lovable misfit.
He was scared yet pushed along with possibilities of love
that fed his heart and mind with an urge to give up on life.
Every time he left his past behind running away and fast,
he saw the very essence of him fade away to the distant light.
Godspeed wishes from the least expected folks
felt like curses that are too shameful to carry a veil.
The speed reached a crescendo and left him in tears
as he looked back through their mirrored reflection of the past
to cherish the long gone time turn into fade-away dusts.
No meaning, no reason and no sense to it all,
he promised himself that he would fight against the lovers’ call.
Friends, lovers, siblings and luring enemies of blood
were all lovers of his loneliness and his gruesome part in the world.
Let his voice be cranky and let his worries be heard.
The cage he built for himself are too weak to hold his shattered parts.
If he had a chance to survive as a loner behind the rusty imaginary bars.
He would grow a rash when rested on the iron to leave him with scars.
So scared to kill some minutes alone,
and scared to show out a life of their own.
They laughed and mocked at his secure self
And they called him a loner and he agreed himself.
He could walk down a street and choose a spot
to be himself and clearly not worry a lot.
His wickedness and filth weren’t quotients of shame,
he built on his ego and he brought himself his fame.
Neither did he have conflicts of choice,
Nor did his heart disagreed his thoughtless voice.
Still laughed at for which he didn’t quite understand,
the echoes of ha-ha were thrown back at their hand.
Tears would roll down his rugged cheek
after years of lonesome lonely streak.
Like pearls they were precious for all did they know
because the loner did seldom cry on the show.
Disturbed and confused in the vastness of his head
his thoughts and wisdom took a giant leap instead.
Fools of yesterday laughed at him again
till they found nothing to beat him and nothing to gain.
Alone has always been his abode,
he had nothing to prove otherwise and about.