Phantasmagorical Power
Day in and day out I wake up even before my alarm goes off. As if I have set an alarm inside my head.
A monotonic mechanical being with a more monotonic life. Ever so afraid of a million things.
I never intended to bring forth these thoughts,
Its as if he takes over when the dread makes love with untamed pain and anger
Yea, it has become a journal now. Not poems or atleast thats what I thought it was.
Every single day reminds us of our races. To impresses bosses sitting in their cozy rooms, beefed up by the money in their accounts
Not knowing what disaster would strike right before a portion of their riches is thrown on to us
Like the left over food thrown at the dogs sitting by their master's table we lie in waiting.
While we struggle to see a growth in the figures of our bank accounts
Sickness and mortgage luring us into desperation like those prostitutes with enhanced B's calling us for a momentary fun only to leave a feeling of guilt and pain for the rest of our lives.
Big fat ass bankers and doctors hogging up the funds as soon as they knock on the doors
But who could blame them.
They shed millions to get those degrees - hanging proudly on the plastered walls
To erect the fancy buildings they calls banks and hospitals to suck the marrow out of us
All it takes is one visit down that lane, into those buildings
Its like drugs. The doctors and bankers are the dealers selling shit load of fantasies
But again, who could blame them. They are just like us. Our brothers ans sisters
How do we escape from this perfectly synchronous lives of ours? Social Media
Creating bubbles and separating us yet giving us a feeling of being connected
Lost in our own spaces disconnected from each other trying to cover our naked thoughts and lives
Hiding the monsters behind those pictures and waiting on the likes like leeches
Drowning in sorry and loneliness trying to tell the world the opposite stories
While making the rich richer and calling them our icons.
While all is going well or falling apart which it will ,eventually, we find ways to burrow into our secret worlds
Shelling money on wines to set sail and stagger on solid grounds
Some prefer smoke while some go with pills
Some prefer watching naked men and women doing their thing earning millions while destroying the wiring in our heads
While some build muscles and some grow trees
Among them are a few nobles who search for God
Atleast that is what they believe they are doing. Finding the purpose. Finding the Gods.
What God told, what man heard, what he wrote, what he read, what he taught, what he follows, what he made them follows
The whats dont stop there.
They creep into our minds slowly consuming us inch by inch until we either become religious lunatics or philosophers or religious prostitutes
Giving us a feeling of strength and power.
All of these events in life, they all give us power. An imaginary power.
A monotonic mechanical being with a more monotonic life. Ever so afraid of a million things.
I never intended to bring forth these thoughts,
Its as if he takes over when the dread makes love with untamed pain and anger
Yea, it has become a journal now. Not poems or atleast thats what I thought it was.
Every single day reminds us of our races. To impresses bosses sitting in their cozy rooms, beefed up by the money in their accounts
Not knowing what disaster would strike right before a portion of their riches is thrown on to us
Like the left over food thrown at the dogs sitting by their master's table we lie in waiting.
While we struggle to see a growth in the figures of our bank accounts
Sickness and mortgage luring us into desperation like those prostitutes with enhanced B's calling us for a momentary fun only to leave a feeling of guilt and pain for the rest of our lives.
Big fat ass bankers and doctors hogging up the funds as soon as they knock on the doors
But who could blame them.
They shed millions to get those degrees - hanging proudly on the plastered walls
To erect the fancy buildings they calls banks and hospitals to suck the marrow out of us
All it takes is one visit down that lane, into those buildings
Its like drugs. The doctors and bankers are the dealers selling shit load of fantasies
But again, who could blame them. They are just like us. Our brothers ans sisters
How do we escape from this perfectly synchronous lives of ours? Social Media
Creating bubbles and separating us yet giving us a feeling of being connected
Lost in our own spaces disconnected from each other trying to cover our naked thoughts and lives
Hiding the monsters behind those pictures and waiting on the likes like leeches
Drowning in sorry and loneliness trying to tell the world the opposite stories
While making the rich richer and calling them our icons.
While all is going well or falling apart which it will ,eventually, we find ways to burrow into our secret worlds
Shelling money on wines to set sail and stagger on solid grounds
Some prefer smoke while some go with pills
Some prefer watching naked men and women doing their thing earning millions while destroying the wiring in our heads
While some build muscles and some grow trees
Among them are a few nobles who search for God
Atleast that is what they believe they are doing. Finding the purpose. Finding the Gods.
What God told, what man heard, what he wrote, what he read, what he taught, what he follows, what he made them follows
The whats dont stop there.
They creep into our minds slowly consuming us inch by inch until we either become religious lunatics or philosophers or religious prostitutes
Giving us a feeling of strength and power.
All of these events in life, they all give us power. An imaginary power.
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