In The Name Of Faith

In a world divided between religion & science

Each often holds their high grounds

Locked in the privilege of their ivory towers

Convinced their ways are aligned closer to the singular truth

And yet the bastards raised in degenerate whorehouses

With questions as their only companions

Despite a hundred thousand frowns and promises

Knew singularities were acts of faith, dichotomy the only true consequence of reason

Religion says believing is seeing

But then how do you believe something you haven't even seen

How do you vest your beliefs in a faith so ultimate and yet so fragile

How do you let the hollow insides of a spineless truth swallow you whole while you lay down the very existence of your species at its mercy

Science says seeing is believing

But then how do you explain purple, something you see and yet it never exists in truth

How do you let your biology take the wheel when you know it's been compromised to illusions, and convinced into gaslighting you, every single day

How do you let the misconstrued interpretations of an alien truth blindfold you into a cage of singular perceptions

It is rather funny to see the elites tumble in their incessant need to cling on to faith like creatures of convenience

While the unsophisticated sharp-tongued morons give shape to the singular truth the elites hate the most: to watch their faiths crumble, and drift away, from right beneath their feet

In a world where science and religion sell for equal stakes

Order is blasphemous; chaos, the way of life

Of Fucks Given & Taken

Have you ever wondered how the truth of intimacy isn't half as intimate as the idea of it

In the shallow breaths of a gasping anticipation to the screenplay of a fornication, you've played over and over again in the boner of your brain cells

In the folds of an inexpensive adulthood rented out to the suicidal moth of an innocence, spent at the length of faded words in a worn out erotica

In the flimsy skin wrapped around the throbbing veins of your measured thickness molly-coddled to a perverted sickness disguised as desire

Have you ever wondered how orgasms are a commodity

How the stretch marks laid out across the breadths of your skin like stitches on the only blanket of a homeless, aren't aligned to the aesthetics of desire

How your ideas of sexual gratification revolve around objectifying fiction born off Photoshop & cocaine that is as distant from human anatomy as Communism as a practice is, from Communism as an ideology

How you constantly dwell at the crossroads of the duality of fucking the ones you wouldn't jerk off to and jerking off to the ones who wouldn't fuck you

The next time you think or feel, even for a fraction of a second, sex isn't political

Peel off your clothes like masks off a creature of convenience, and dare make love to the other side

From The Diary Of An Antisocial

Every time you've cut yourself open

Was it a choice or the only

Hoping blood could be the analgesic

The voices in your head stabbed in their guts to a short-lived silence

Every time you've prayed for death 

And hoped this time around your prayers would be answered

Were you your own victim

Or a consequence of the habitual failure of a consistently failing system busy judging you while pretending to be your ecosystem, called society

In a world of Frankenstein's monsters, masterpieces are but mirages

Calling victims of a well-planned genocide of everyone who didn't fit your boxes an escapist is arrogant, phrasing murder a suicide, an abomination

Un-poetry

it's hilarious to see

mediocrity team up

get down on their knees

their throats choked

on the obnoxious pride of an overrated ball-sac

their tongues spewing piss and cum

claiming they're the revolution called poetry

you know it's ridiculous

when poetry starts selling integrity faster than politics

as I unzip by a rusty by-lane, and piss on the wall of spoken word

they cough up Ghalib & Whitman like pimps peddling whores

A Fictional Idea Of Revolution

You say you're a revolutionary

A rebel born, to obliterate a system rigged against you

But then, unlike revolutionaries & rebels, your mutiny needs documented validation

Stories you keep telling the world, screaming your rebellion into the void of social media, and onto the screens of people, who make up the very system you so badly want to obliterate

It's funny, isn't it; even your revolution against the system has any meaning only when that very system approves of it

Do you think that's how Renaissance really happened, or the French Revolution

You are no rebel; your idea of revolution is as deluded as a religious bigot's idea of secularism

You are as much as rebel as Jeffrey Dahmer was a social worker

It's funny how your ideas of revolution have convinced you that gender is the enemy

In a world of binaries, you are the white pitted against a world of black

You support the non-binaries not because you understand them, but because you need them, fellow comorades in your fancy revolution

In a world that's anything but black and white; shades of greys, tinges of brown, hints of blue, at best

Let's go down the memory lane for a minute, yeah

Let's scratch beneath the shallow surface of those convenient memories until it hurts

Wasn't it your very own gender that told you how to be your gender

Wasn't it your very own gender that told you to not visit temples and not enter the kitchen, those five days every month

Wasn't it your very own gender that shamed you into household chores

Wasn't it your very own gender that fucked your love in the name of friendship

And yet, somehow, you keep telling yourself, the other gender is the problem, the enemy

When in reality, the real enemy is the idea

The idea of your supposed identity

The idea of how a certain identity has to be to identify as such

And that idea, my love, wasn't born in a singular gender

For births need two genders, the blacks and the whites, to birth

You scream your struggles in the convenience of your privileges

While you exploit the very gender you claim to be an advocate of

You say cooking and cleaning aren't gender roles, and yet you still prefer a specific gender to cook you your meals and clean your house

You claim equal pay while you deprive your very own gender of a hike, because cooking and cleaning doesn't come with performance appraisals

It's funny isn't it, how the ones who need a revolution have no idea of such ideas

And the ones who do, keep exploiting them while crying victims to the very system that enables you live a glorious life of meticulous hypocrisy

You will say I'm gaslighting you, because gaslighting is the new mansplaining, and everything that doesn't align to your faith system is gaslighting

I could tell you, it's called having a different opinion, if you'd indulge

But then this is your monologue, and I am the enemy, and no matter what the logic or the rationale, it's a battle you've won even before you fought it

A battle you need, because what is revolution, if not a war, and what is a war, without an enemy

Not an idea, because ideas can't be fought, but a body of flesh, that you can pierce right through, as and when it suits your convenience

And yet, you are the victim

Pavlov's Dog

Imagine if you for once, said what you meant

Imagine how many times over and over again, your caustic flares would have engulfed the world you're so reluctantly a co-existence in

But then, actions have consequences, and consequences aren't about conveniences

So you wrap your morbidly obese ego in a flimsy foil of morality, and pat yourself on the back for being nice

You say you want justice

But what you really want is vengeance

Justice is a concept, vengeance is an actuality

And concepts can't satiate the filthy slime of hate creeping up your guts, in your intestines

You know whoever said "an eye for an eye makes the world blind" was a rather audacious motherfucker

Once you've lost an eye, you'd rather have the world blind than preach peace in pen and paper

You say you want equality, equity

But what you really want is the privilege, but not the accountability that comes alongside

Privilege without accountability is an airplane without the wings: it's so absurd it's borderline delusional

But then the line between being empowered and being gaslit into greatness is rather thin

As thin as that foil of morality you wrap around like a pointless endorsement of nicety 

Morality is a great excuse; the goddamn ace in the pack of cards up the sleeve of your shrewd self-esteem

Morality is the greatest of all conditioned reflexes the whole of humanity has ever known; the one where you are Pavlov and you are the dog