Disorientation of the lost boy

I saw the trace of innocence in memories
when I look back on those days,
Then out of nowhere
the first cigarette came, wrapped
with the choice of substances
that offered me more quick rush
and then the stuffs were everywhere
and then the manufactured chemical products
and then it was almost the end of the world.
But then came my bare-ass poetry
In its nakedness, I can relate my life easily,
though I don't know where I came from
I don't know where I'm heading to
I'm just waiting for the last shot
and I'll come clean.

When the neighbourbood and beyond
are suffering from cancer
that eats the happiness of our time
I resort to things that are available
within the close radius of my home.
For instance,
I watch the weeds grow at the river banks
I love their independence, growing anywhere
In its appreciation I get stoned
and dream about going places,
But as I cannot leave
with this baggage of violence,
I travel around with a figment
to each corner of my hometown
I cannot simply go away,
Yet I find the rhythm in going high.

Now and then
when I regain my normal senses,
I'd have love to read Pacha
Many candles had been burnt
trying to separate the genius from the alcoholic
While I'm myself drawn to
rum and whisky and Moojikhul
In the darkness, I see more light in inebriety
Its light is anyway more natural
than the switches and plugs
that are put on forcibly
to say we live in the 21st century.
In the chaos, I'm left drinking more,
A toast to our lost generation!

Desperate and late I'm always
I would take the short cut
Never mind any roadblock
Never mind the detour
I would take a jump on the wall
senseless of what lies
on the other side of the fence
Never mind the thorns
that shroud more secretly
than how our masters hide their booty
When we need an injection of reason
I'm left fixing the powder, reminding myself
with each killing and bomb-hurling rituals:
One fix is too many.
A thousand fixes are not enough.

In the school I learn
Hard work's the only way
But those lessons are meaningless
Now the armies have made their camps
inside the school campus too
Now I count on my persuasiveness
and my kinship's force to find a job
Or perhaps I would go on as listlessly
and some years later,
vanish into oblivion as a speck of dust.



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