Knock on my door

Every time you passed by without knocking,
I wept like a kid.
Every time you passed by without noticing,
I cried, I did.

Whenever you did knock,
I know I could never smile.
I acted rude and stoned.
I was mad all this while.

I am mad even now, and still
I wish it every time you pass by
that you could knock on my door;
that you could say a hi.

poems senseless

Dash and dot

Sparkling faces and red cheeks

Smiling lips, rusty Rusty eyes and golden streaks

People, friends, good men, better women

Talks and jokes, drama and fun now and then

I see the world

With the eyes of a blind soul

I stand aloof

Away from the rock-n-rol

Eternal sadness

Leaves me not

Unreadable, meaningless

Dash and dot

Dash and dot


Keep cutting

Pick the scissor
and cut shapes.
Triangles and
Paper flakes.

Run your mind.
Run your heart.
Let fun flow.
Love your art.

The brown paper
sings a song.
Move the scissor.
Hey, sing along.

Make a heart.
And Teddy bear.
Make’em for me.
Anything oh dear.

I love watching
you having fun;
holding the scissor;
letting it run.

The paper’s over.
Here, cut my skin.
Love you so much.
Darling, keep cutting.

That’s red of course.
But that ain’t blood.
Keep cutting shapes.
I’m anyways dead.

poems senseless

I won’t die


The world can’t see.
It got no eyes.
The world doesn’t care
who lives, who dies.

Like broken pebbles
crushed by weight,
I stare all around
in a fucked up state.

Its getting darker.
I can hardly see.
Yes, I am fucked up.
Someone set me free.

I am so drugged
every damn second;
lifeless and cold;
waiting for the end.

There is no pain
or joy anymore.
I feel like I’m dead.
I’m dead for sure.

You think I am weak
can be crushed and thrown?
I tell you God,
I won’t even moan.

Yes, I am defeated;
fallen flat; screaming;
floating in blood;
can’t feel a thing.

But I’ll stand up
and run and fly.
I will fight back.
Fuck, I won’t die!

design poems senseless

Feel the end

Insanity thrives
Feel the vibes

Blood trickles
Feel the pulse

Flesh decays
Feel the daze

Cells burst
Feel the thirst

Pain kills
Feel the pills

Air poisoned
Feel the end


Hit the wall

hit the wall
break it
punch it
hit it hard
hit the wall
let the fingers hurt
let the fist swell
let the skin go red
keep hitting
keep punching
knock it off
rip it
crush it
feel it
the pain
another blow
once more
keep going
smile at the cuts
laugh at the blood
get mad
act mad
show strength
lose strength
bang bang
the wall will cry
will cry with you
will scream with you
will bleed with you
will collapse
will suffer
will be gone
with numb muscles
and broken bones
hit the wall
hit it hard


Ask me

Ask me to wait
for hundred years.
I’ll wait till the sun’s alive.
Ask me to wipe
all your tears.
A single drop, I wont let thrive.

Ask me to run
a million miles.
I’ll run till my last breath.
Ask me to build
magical isles.
I’ll raise’m from blood and sweat.

Ask me to lead.
I’ll walk along, head to head.
Ask me to bleed.
I’ll turn every river red.

Ask me to love you.
You wont need more love.
Or bid me adieu.
I will go. Nah, not my love.



Lost. Awake. Blank.
I smile.
I smile and I cry.
I cry and I sleep.
I sleep and I dream.
I see you.
I love you.
You fly.
Fly high.
In the sky.
Lost. Awake. Blank.
Emotions dead.
Heart stoned.
Lips sealed.
Eyes dry.



If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run —
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And — which is more — you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling


Gun Shot

Ruthless, where art thou mercy
Oh, you never had some
Kill me, knock me out you holy soul
I, the dead man, am waiting for it
The gun shot