You Know What I Hate

the very existence.
the very existence of me captivated in a void, in a nothingness, surrounded by these material beings
lifeless as it seems, but these are what i interact with for a glimpse of you.
the futility of existence
of giving hope, the dream, the vision of what is to be
only to have it all crashing down like a castle made of glass
shattered and broken with a single crack.
The hope of heaven on earth, the clairvoyance of you and me walking hand in hand forever and ever
the eternity of being larger than this universe even though we are a trivial being living within it,
only to realise it was a constructed memory based upon the blind sighted affection and gratitude
and the very existence of remaining time, consumed by emptiness, is to deconstruct the same memory
while living through it every day -physically and virtually.
Deconstruction, the dismantle of the memory is the most agonizing and very much hated.

The worthless anticipation
the known probability is next to zero or even negative yet the heart hangs by the skin for the possibility of what might be
in this infinite universe.
Its so pathetic, the passing of time, the ticking of clock and yet the anticipation never disappears
rather the anxiety grows larger and larger pushing the button for this urge to make a first move, or a millionth one.
A mistake, may it be, the anxious anticipation
this uncontrollable desire
but you were a shot of dopamine and we both knew it.

you know what i hate, the knowledge of nonexistent.
The knowledge of nonexistent
is a frightening thought as at one point
we were a singularity and we big banged into our own creation
our own universe, revolving around each other
until you destroyed me completely
you destroyed me completely and mercilessly
engulfing the very existence of me like a blackhole devouring the entire galaxy.
And now a meaningless creature that i have become as you shine upon others light
i cant help but wonder does that light outshines my entire purpose, my entire existence.
tell me am i nonexistent to your futile existence?!

the blues

the color of the night
in the city that sleeps
midnight agony
with a beaming light far across
solitude, my friend
my accompany

darkened windows
darkened roads
just a screeching noise
of the dogs howling
and the cats meowing
sparkling head lights of the fast cars
scorching breaks on the hollow

drizzling rain soaking bodies
under the broken umbrella
sippin on the finest tea
and noodles for the midnight snack
woman blazing flames over her stoves
serving drunks to serve her family

sometimes the stars twinkle
and moon shreds its light without any greed
othertimes the clouds win the battle
gloomy
as if the city wasnt already dead

closed temples and stupas
pubs and music
where do we line ourselves
if not for the stairs on the streets
where the beggars and the dogs cuddle

stale as it may seem
the story of this city
closed doors on every corner
the dreams seem so futile
insignificant
the blues, the color of the night
in this city
does the dreamers even exist!!!

COPYRIGHT SAJAN DANGOL 2013.

Flashback

(again the continuation to my previous post. here’s the link https://xtormentorx.wordpress.com/2013/07/07/salvation/)

here’s to love

reflecting upon my past
through a broken mirror
slave to the recurring dream
pinned to the past
paralysed to your memroy
of holding hands
walkin around the city
late night phones
and a new movie
laughters and desserts
tounges and kisses
hugs and wishes
im left with couple of photographs and memory in bits and pieces
im a traveler of time
-imagination-
my own time machine
no, i cannot skip.
like a fish, you slip away!

COPYRIGHT SAJAN DANGOL 2013.

That Little Hope

Image

That little hope chases the fame ,
That little hope gives victory to the game.
That little hope heats up the desire,
That little hope is our fire.
That little hope makes us crawl,
That little hope is our cusion when we fall.
That little hope protects the subdued light,
That little hope makes our heart bright.
That little hope keeps us calm,
That little hope changes faith written in our palm.
That little hope is our aim,
That little hope chatches the flame .
That little hope is our inner scream,
That little hope is our fuckin dream.
That little hope drives our ride,
That little hope keeps us alive.

With that little hope a drowning man catches a straw,
And with that little hope a hungry man eats it raw.
If there was no hope it would seize to exist,
With no hope there’s nothin to believe.

That little hope that drives us
That little hope……
That tiny fuckin little hope
Fuckin hope…

COPYRIGHT SAJAN DANGOL 2012.