Tag: depression

Nihilism.

There isn’t any safety.

Particles colliding randomly.

I can only see a story through a microscope.

It’s just me,

Dreaming

Of smoke smelling like rubber tires.

And here I was lying in a puddle of sweetness.

My only paperback friends.

Buried under Ash.

Black water seeps through you

“And don’t you forget the plants!”

Even the trees are depressed today.

We lost our Summer-child.

A season of Abortions.

Those Mango trees have Fetuses sleeping in them.

I sleep on a hard bed now.

The weight of the world on my back,

And here I am feeling light.

I own nothing.

And I sleep in perfect silence.

(C) A.R. Minhas

by A.R. Minhas

In A Swimming Pool

Saturday was meant to be boring.

Then a Mansion appeared.

View of the lake, and the buzzing of sea creatures. The lights of the city drown out the loneliness.

We talk about UFOs and an apple falls.

Bare feet, we play like we did as children.

The coarseness of the road, the calluses remind you of life.

Backyard, or a Grecian garden.

In the cover of Cedars we play with Arrows.

You always miss the point.

“I want to feel the sharpness of the wet grass, I’m on Earth after all.”

The blueness of the swimming pool.

Heated foam rises up as I see images of a black hole.

My box contains Tarot cards and Lady Pink Kush.

She fills my belly up with dreams and warm feelings.

The end of a beer bottle, stuffed with cigarette butts and dreams of ash.

I see bodies of my friends floating.

I’m here for you always but you needed something that I couldn’t provide– A conversation. The right words, in the right order and at the right time.

But how can I help you? I’m an island.

Like you I’m lost. Swimming in absurdity.

The sun judges me for observing my friends like objects in a Petri dish of literary experiments. It marks me as a war-criminal like I am.

I’m like this empty beer bottle stuffed with cigarette butts and dreams of ash.

And I can only provide you with more nihilism.

So let’s float here in salt-water laced with chlorine.

And not do anything today.

(C) A.R. Minhas 2019

by A.R. Minhas

It’s Time To Sleep.

I knew what they said about me was true.

I don’t actively listen.

Conversations all hand gestures.

I will only disappoint you.

Maybe it’s time to sleep.

Put the phone away.

It’s no use. It’s not like words matter.

“Or more importantly the entity who speaks these words doesn’t matter.”

I’m tired and I can’t sleep.

All the blue light gets in the way.

Stimulated by connection.

I disconnected from you long ago.

I watch pornography on the phone.

“No! There isn’t anyone I would like to talk to.”

If only I got what I wanted.

Then there would be no need to make poetry.

Who knew living was a compromise?

Sweet death, the equanimity of the womb.

I gently drink that sugared coffee

In hopes that I can bathe in the

Cigarette infused sunset.

Everything is gone to ash

What else there is to say?

Maybe I can be foolish again.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

by A.R. Minhas

Fire Above, Water Below (Poetry)

Purchase Art

Your naked body

Against mine

Roof charred,

I can see your frames

Calcium deposits in your ears.

Unsteady legs,

Vertigo

“Our world collapses on ourselves.”

Did you dream of a tower?

Fire above

Explosion of lint

Torrents of water chew the wood

I present the creeping mold

“And what about my plants that I had kept for Feng Shui?”

They have succumbed to smoke inhalation.

The old you is dead.

A fetus was found in the flood.

It comes to term

The world is anew

And the summer child can’t stop laughing.

(C) A.R. Minhas

by A.R. Minhas

Futile

Can you understand me?

‘Milk spilt in the hall.’

Dionysus cried himself to sleep.

Roses burning with a magnifying glass.

Melted sugar.

Come to the blue party.

Serotonin for you, and the light fades.

Blind
‘The head line dips to Luna.’

My delusions are mine to keep.

Share the kiss, never fall in Love.
Some people are blessed to be alone.

(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

by A.R. Minhas

Fraud

I don’t deserve it.

“You look like you need it.”

          A cherry flavoured kiss.

I still taste you on my beard.

A door knocks.

         An ancient bird that taps.

Shadows close in on me.

          The mouse-trap with red velvet cake.

You don’t deserve anything.

          It snaps. It recoils.

This is how a dream breaks,

And I’m relieved.

You were never real.

          It was all given to you,

          And now you return to take me back.

I laugh at your audacity

“Papers, please.”

I was never here in the first place.

There is a beauty in surrendering.

© A.R. Minhas

by A.R. Minhas

I Hear Things And I Feel Nothing.

“I have shared secrets with you…”

“Oh Dead Mother!”

“Come have your pills. Depression doesn’t look good on you.”

“It’s just a coincidence that you wore red today.”

“I’m masturbating in public!”

“…And let’s abort this thing.”

“And why do you care that our generation is the worst?”

“You didn’t taste that way before…”

“And I’m learning more about you. Every time we feel each other.”

“Just remember– The Dream of a Green Sunday.”

“Meat has turned raw, my existence is a tragedy.”

“White-Chocolate Cheesecake is the escape, and I feel nothing for you.”

“There was love once…wasn’t there?”

“I think and there was an illusion.”


(c) A.R. Minhas 2019

by A.R. Minhas

Become a Simurgh

I feel distant again

It started when I desired to be desired

 

And no one has time to waste

 

I became a Simurgh

Soaring on top of a digital wasteland

 

You can keep your trypophobic flowers

I only smell the sweet pheromones of death

 

Did you hear the outrageous music?

 

It was bright red, like a Sun that gives everything but receives nothing

 

I became a Simurgh again

Because they never rest on the ground

 

They are here only to bring messages

They have no time for your stories

 

Eyes instead of feathers to observe

Not to live

 

There is no living here

 

Only beginnings and Ends

 

The middle is soft and silly

 

Become a Simurgh

 

And leap over the earthly spikes

 

And escape your desire to be loved

 

These are trivial things

 

Become a Simurgh

 

So becoming something doesn’t matter anymore.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

by A.R. Minhas