Sign Out

sign out.jpg

Too long and too silently have I suffered,
from this punishment, the world calls life.
The only escape I now know and seek,
is in the glistening blade of my knife.

Why did they invite me to enjoy the world’s spoils,
when each bit of it was poisoned and cursed?
Why did they pretend to embellish my wretched destiny,
while secretly it was only their fortunes they nursed?

Why was I shown luring mirages of success,
when what was intended for me was ruin and wreckage?
Why was it that I never got to write my own story,
and the one they wrote, opened at the last page?

They answered my blind loyalty with shameless betrayal,
and dissolved my faith in a steaming cauldron of deceit.
At my slightest slip, they came swooping down upon me,
like eerie vultures descending on leftover meat.

Too long I stayed illusioned by their Machiavellian tactics,
and consorted in their brazen acts of transgression.
But, now I can play the masochistic puppet no longer –
too famished am I now to battle this depression.

The world is free to hate and despise me,
for the road I take is laid with a defeatist’s tar.
But let those chance few who loved me, know
that but for them I wouldn’t even have made it this far.

The world hasn’t been completely unkind to me,
and I do have some sweet memories to carry yonder.
There were indeed a few alleys of unscathed happiness,
and in them will my surrendered soul silently wander.

This paper will now patiently wait on the side-table,
and announce my decision to take the long journey back.
And the last line this unfortunate hand will ever write,
will be a thin crimson one across my neck…


NISHANK MEHTA  |  14.08.2009