My Kind

They say that even a broken clock is right twice a day
But they never told you about the stuck clock.
The minutes keep moving but the hours don't pass.
There doesn't seem to be a way to make time move faster.
When you watch the sand run out of time,
you realise how much you're loosing
but you can never seem to hurry it up
It takes it's time in falling down
like a child on a swirly slide
We're the only ones in a rush
running, speeding, tripping, crawling
The clock will take its time to be right
Not like a meal to be served twice a day
This stuck clock is the one that moves on it;s own time
Stuck, never wanting to be right
you can try to fix it but it will always
find a way to stop and mess up 

Kid in a car

'Write a poem on poverty'

But who am I to tell the tales of the dark lives of the labourers
All I do is sit in the car,
Still as a predator, meditating for its prey
I can hear the mosquito's orchestra out in the street.
Momentary high beams of cars passing by,
And these people are caught like dear in headlights.
But I am a prey, hiding from my predator; the eyes of these labourers that haunt me
Their dark eyes, hair untamed and shingled off,
tendons showing at every joint
Fathers comfort in the alcohol and gutka
The mothers sit by a tea stall, fanning their babies on hot summer evenings, as the day's shift ends and the men come back, to their dens of darkness,
made of bricks and cement, yet so temporary.

Who am I to tell these figments of their lives?

I'm just a kid sitting in a car.

Annual Rent

It will be July again 

and my Christmas decorations 

will still be up because I hope 

that they will lead you back home.

But where is home?

What do you consider me as?

Am I  home for you?

What am I?

Who am I?

I don't know actually

Currently though 

all I feel like 

is a pile of bones

with flesh laid over 

like a soft comforter

too tired to move

But I want to be more.

I want to be a spark 

that something that changes your mind

a muse

a penny for your thoughts

Quid Pro Quo to your heart

But hearts aren't meant to be rent out as favours.

Though the spaces in them is given out 

You're one of the tenants

Adamant not to move out

And I don't have the heart to kick you out

Someday it'll be time for you to pay up

Rent including the security taxes 

For keeping you in my heart is a battle

which I wish I would've lost a long time ago