The it factor !

He sniffed himself
more often than not

Some times he wondered
if other people smelt it too,

In fancy hallways he felt at home,
Vanilla that rose up from white china cups filled the air,
These cups were full of it as well.
And he would wear all these bright clean clothes,
with saturated colors,
big bold rich names stapled to them.
He would wear these beautiful sparkling things,
that shined more than gold,
glittered more than the March night sky,
His clothes were full of it as well.

His speech was like an assortment of fresh green salad,
his acquired accent like salad dressings, overpaid for, from convenient stores,
These stores were full of it as well.

His walls were decorated with well composed landscape pictures
You could find him somewhere in the frame as well,
tiny and almost invisible, but some how he felt very big about this,
His engineering degree hung by the side,
As if someone had put a reflector in his sockets,
his pride glistening in his eyes,
Even his walls were full of it

He walked down the road with spring in his feet,
His hands in his pocket,
A well measured smile in his face,
Even his walk was full of it.

He sniffed himself more often than not,
He worried if other people smelt it too.

He saw me in the mirror the other day,
He said, “sh…
Don’t you tell,
don’t you tell nobody about it.
I am doing my best to hide it.”

I said- “Don’t worry bro, it’s not just you, everybody is full of shit.”


A Masked Man

Why is it that, you decide to hide

behind your lies, pretend and smiles

smile that you have to stretch with effort

and fake a spark in your eyes

why can’t you dare, to disappoint the other

and instead, end up disappointing yourself

by living a lie,

a fake veil of made up appearance

why would you not come out to the woods

and call a crooked tree out

why would you not gaze the rainbow

and still not like the color yellow

Why do you every night,

sob quietly after you take off your mask

that has almost fused to your face

why do you keep going back

to a night full of incomplete sleep

and a dark sad place

it might have been much easier

if you could make true criticism


fake praise

this life is your play,

play it out in a real world

not in a DIY cage.