TurnAround

We are extraordinary machines
capable of the impossible, it seems
but, a slightest wound to an imaginary spot
is all it takes to bleed from the heart.

Paralyzed, immobilized, disfranchised
cut away from the rest, for eternity
the rest is a journey to with no end in sight
for it doesn't matter wither goes thou

Aimless, soulless, pointless, homeless
castaway, we float, lost at sea
seeking, searching, from around us
when all we need lies within

we forget to live cos we had a fall
when we give in and give up
nether do we climb the wall
or move forward, we just crawl

if only we could see the reality
that nothing we do matters
in the time or face of eternity
we just might laugh a little

a lot much more than we do
in the course of the normal day
at life, about life, in life. Alive.
every step of our own way.

We live as OmniWhores...
taking anything and everything
theres nothing wrong and nothing ever right
as long as it makes us feel alive.

Doesn't matter if its life or death
Black or white or shades of grey
From dawn to twilight, we keep leeching
So we retain the sense of the times.

Plain speak is dead, the mask is always on
riled up in our emotions, we forget who we are,
mere existence is mistaken for living
portraying to the world, pretending and lying

Betraying the self, without realizing
our soulless laughter fills the stage
and as empty shells we play our parts
without a clue as to how long it will last.

Till the curtain calls come
well before we are done
and all is put to rest underground
as OmniWhores we shall move around.

They say every minute counts
months on months go by with nothing
and yet in an instant, everything changes
precipitious in nature, life is...

If every minute was eventful
would be less regrets and more to live for
skipping the days of nothing
salvaging the moments of truth

All the “nothing” is more than i can handle
and every second will count
in the crepuscular time of my life

From the pits of nothing
is born a wish, an attachment
just to belong into this world
of being a real self

Wanting it all to wanting nothing at all
is but just a step away
when every moment counts
in this vaccillation of my life...

White lies and convenient truths
spoken lines and forgotten times
the stage is cleared and our parts are played
with moving scenes in the backyard game

epiphanies abound...

The Solution

On the other side lies the answer
the final solution to the dementia called life
so far, yet a step away

a slit, a slash or a mere snuff
a step, or jump, whatever it is,
but a gumption from within
is missing in the piece

for the final solution.

All thats not possible
is waylaid because of hope
for a better day, a better way

maybe in all this
there is something to gain
I am missing the picture
all i can seek is the end
if i could just push myself
fast forward to the demise
and dampen out the surprise

The longer I wallow in this sty
of pity and emotional scum
easier it would be to float
than sink without a trace...

into the final solution

should i survive another day
look back and make sense
of all thats gone away
but not today, no, not today

the final solution is but a step away
so far, yet a step away