The world lies.
I should know.
I live there.
where my consciousness is conformed by
embellished ideas like tumors feed upon
origins and truth but
grow into aliens.
Such is the modern construct of a modern consciousness.
I sink even more into its treacherous waters
by each passing moment.
I sit in my cherished chair.
I reach for the illusion of networks and human connection
as I deny my reality one click at a time.
I forget myself and everything around but
I still eat.
An involuntary indulgence in systematic sustenance and
cerebral devotion to the world of hazy hopes and
I stroll the streets
Jazz in my ears, shutting every other sound.
I’m an alien walking
among humanoid silhouettes.
I exchange monotonic greetings
and the occasional signs of insecurity.
It’s a struggle for identity,
I just lost.
The world looted me.
It left nothing in me but these broken words
with which I strive to build into poetry,
ugly and bleak,
trying so hard to be beautiful
but the scar is too deep and
the chasm between me and my true self
is widening even more.
15/04/2016 © Waseem Sherif
Impromptu piece. unedited.
• for future instances, every poem I label ‘Impromptu’ it means it is unedited and that it came to me in a stream-of-consciousness sort of way. These type of writes, despite being of less poetic quality compared to the ones I spend hours and days writing, have a special place in my heart because I believe there is something really strong in them to push them out in such a manner. So I choose not to make them better by editing them. I consider them a reflection of my true self, if you will.