Life
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Screaming outside my hotel room. A restless night. Culminating. In helpless screams. Of unknown people. Anguished. Full of unrest. Strangers. With disparate identities. With or without homes. With or without family. Strangely restless souls. Put together. By an ignorant hotel manager. On the same floor. Or is it. My imagination. Going wild. Wallowing. In sympathy.
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I sit by the bar. Near the busy street. People pass me by. As I watch cars speed past. Leaving blurred trails. Of different colors. Red. Blue. Green. Amber. Diffused. Transient. One trail. Makes way. For another. Everything passes. The cars. The lights. The trails. The past. Life. The trails get muddled. They merge
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Longing is punishment. Yearning is torture. Unleashed by forces. Beyond our control. Motivated by a concept. Called love. Fueled by a nuisance. Called lust. Controlled by a demon. Called passion. I yearn for you. Long to be with you. Dream about us. Remember what was. Imagine what could be. Unable to endure. What is. Without
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Disgusting. The world I live in. Despicable. The people I know. Abominable. Me. Because I inhabit this world. Because I waste time with these people. Spewing shit from the mouth. Carrying venom in the mind. Shit. Filth. Dirt. All around. Maybe I should stick to whisky. Maybe I should go back to my dirty room.
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Honking. Left. Right. Centre. Top. Bottom. Inside. Outside. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. The sound. Of a restless city. Its agitated soul. Raped. Molested. Abused. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The voice. Of the cities soul. Honk. Honk. The moan. After the fuck.
Hansal mehta 