I don't know why, but at times, I have a knack for typing down "poems" - they're more Dr Seuss' nursery rhymes if he's on acid or any other hallucinogen - at arbitrary moments. I'm not trying to gloat because they're not that good anyway, but I hate to see them forgotten in time, & since I've spent a reasonable amount of time typing them, I might as well share it with others.
My first ever so-called poem was written to describe one particular night of August 2013, where I was driving my car with my mom beside me & we had almost hit some a-holes who were walking in the middle of the road.
I still don't know what drove me (pun intented) to type this down. I mean, I could've played some video games, listened to some songs, written sentence or two on Facebook, or whatever keeps a man calm (I still regret not hitting one of them with my car). Well, at least I channelled that anger & hatred into something aesthetic & I'm damn sure as hell am satisfied & proud of myself.
My first ever so-called poem was written to describe one particular night of August 2013, where I was driving my car with my mom beside me & we had almost hit some a-holes who were walking in the middle of the road.
Twas a time of Friday night,
Driving I was and mother by my side,
Five silhouette figures abruptly were on sight,
On the middle of the road that was ever so bright.
“Bloody Hell!,” I yelled, I gasped, I cried,
Honking my horn with a full-blown might,
Middle finger was raised with an utmost pride,
One yelled ‘WHOI!!!” provoking a fight.
Clearly rude, drunk and unimpressed,
A good excuse for booze and protest,
They’re not poor or shabbily dressed,
Back from a drinking party, a so-called success.
Rolling down the window while the car’s still revving,
Yelling, “Mother******, watch where you’re going!!!”
Temperature’s rising, anger’s fueling, heart’s burning,
She patiently said, “Enough. Just keep on moving.”
I observed my mother’s facial expression,
A strong emotion of sad and disappointment,
It wasn’t with the community in the godforsaken island,
It was me, my action and my appalling aggression.
 |
| The same reaction that most guys would give after jacking off |
I still don't know what drove me (pun intented) to type this down. I mean, I could've played some video games, listened to some songs, written sentence or two on Facebook, or whatever keeps a man calm (I still regret not hitting one of them with my car). Well, at least I channelled that anger & hatred into something aesthetic & I'm damn sure as hell am satisfied & proud of myself.
 |
| If only it transforms me into this guy. |
*all images belong to their respective owners*
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