The Fence.

When did we last build a fence?
And say bro, lets tread no further,
For yonder lies our end,
So why more do we intend?

I gave you happiness,
You took away my tears,
But just the moment I had no fears,
Came in the dreadful fence.

Division was always bad for me,
But now it seems the worst of all.
For though it seems indivisible,
I foresee, naught is what the reminder will be.

What do you do, When life gets you?

What do you do,
When life gets you?
Holds you, hugs you, suffocates you?
At first, you giggle in shame,
Then you wriggle in pain,
But next you're idle again.
It holds you, it moulds you,
And doesn't let you be.
You're angry, you're helpless,
But you are no less!
You wait, wait, and wait,
In hope of some bait . . .
Then one day he leaves,
You meditate, you celebrate,
"Oh! I've won!"

Days go by,
You wonder, you ponder,
Bout the other little bait,
One day you see her . . .
She sings! she laughs!
(And you cannot but cough)
You ask her, you task her,
"Did you surrender?"
"Why? No!", She says,
"I hugged him, my son."

Lazy Confessions

I love the sun but hate its rays
I love the tiger but hate its ways
I love my God but hate his says

I love reading but mugging
I love writing but hate noting
I love Art but hate dissecting

I love life but hate living.

In search . . .

The road i take is all so fake.
The song i sing has no zing.
The life i lead is but a seed.

A seed that grows into a rats furrow,
Of little space, so full of pace,
We have no time to feel God's grace.

Stifled cries are heard,
In a plea to let us flee,
And run to a place that has a better face.

An artist in me.

There's an artist in me
Who refuses to be.

She is drunk, covered by junk.
She is lazy, life's too hazy.

She has a vision but is busy in revision
She cannot dare but pay life's fare.

What can I do to wake her up?
She's down in sleep ever since sup.

Needs she a vintage of the soul?
Then that will be my very goal.

For she needs a vibe to let me jive,
And cry Hallelujah! I'm alive.

Acacademics

Poco pomo Momo Homo,
Life is but a mingeld measure,
Is there any place for pleasure?

Acacademics is all, but knowledge.
It is the sea of marks,
Where the hungry shark lurks.

The sea is quite to night.
The sharks circle in wait of a student
Who aims for a true sense of nonsense . .

''Nonsense'', i say, '' it is all''
Yet in love of thee dear Art,
We partake . . . with a mild hope to crack the shell.