The Premises of an Ideal Life and Additional Poetry

Sonnets

Trapped In The Extreme
Aren't winter and stacks of paper extremes?
First comes the inhuman coldness that make us redeem,
Then thousands of characters that torture us within-
Like a knife entering its prey’s heart,
Slowly drowning us in our own yearn
To deliver work in the most radical perfection;
But in a future sunrise
We will be at a loss with our minds,
From which no spark will be found
And no crumbs of will to be sacrificed;
At last the truth will strike
As we perceive what we have done in our lives
As the sunset comes, we will be laid
In a bed full of wrath and a want for aid.

Grief For the Next Station
The scrupulous kisses laid on my sinewy cheekbone-
An ocean odour and speckle of hug-bruises 
Caress my neck nape like a prone
Infant in need of trusses;
Such is the act of leaving,
Of departing to the nowhere land from my sunny, cleaved
Imagination,
That makes my straddle falter,
At last, here is my next station.
In spite of the dainty feelings of agony,
Here my friends were pure, my life in peace,
My place in whole; to an unknown land shall I go;
My heart is dunce though,
Collecting the griefed moths sliding in
Through the imagery on my mind

Yearn To Be A Hawk
Living as a hawk is what I yearn to one day do-
With tinted plumage and silk feathers,
A life huntsman through and through;
Pointed fangs at my disposal
To tear any haunting saddle in the way,
Gliding past my neighbors with charming sway;
Praising the season’s wonderful hatchings
The nimble toddler’s bodies in the future dispatching;
But I would not have the remembrance of human pleasures,
The first view I had of my former school only meant for leisure,
Walking on the meadow filled with tinted buds of May,
The many licks on a chocolaty ice cream amidst a tenuous day;
Thus the desire to have another soul is useless
Because it would not have such exclusiveness.

Swallowing
What is the reason for sharing our fears?
Allowing it to be revealed will not make us forget;
The only raw feeling that will fill our limbs will be regret;
Our counselor will oblige us to drink
the glassy tea cup where we poured our own screams;
The thick liquid will be arduous to gulp down;
And biding our nightmares a farewell can be a fear in itself;
With thousands of burden bundles toppled down - 
But the emptiness may lead us to forage new worries;
As we see them, our pupils will dilate
And we will savor the possibility of cramming our minds anew
With tangy and corrosive fresh fears-
As much as we crash on deafening problems,
Our counselor will always order us to take the cup again

Losing Touch
From time to time we have evolved
Along with our readings that have lost their touch-
The smell of recently fabricated paper dissolved
And its coziness sees itself encaged in a hutch;
Where there is an excess of light
Blinding us all of what is taking turn-
A world concerned in putting up a fight
To earn as many coins as they can churn;
However, in the doorstep only stay humanity’s leftovers-
From where has this world derived?
Savages we all are
For believing only in the banknotes
That selling books can make us thrive-
With no regard to how they clear the stale water we dive