Nostalgia- Thou Art a Bitch!

No you are not just a moron!

Or a pathetic toothless tube light.

Or a self-buttering bald professor

Of a place full of dynamites.

And of course you are not so dumb

As to confuse a smile for a kiss.

So stop gloating in my tears, you filth,

Cause you are, of course, the real bitch!

You are the Parkinson’s of emotions,

You are the tiny malfunction of reason,

You are the sentimentalisation and treason

Of the tiny bits of memories stuck on me.

Ok, I admit, that my heart finds you pretty!

Even though you are a bitch.

But then that’s the essential human glitch-

Where hearts and bitches get stitched!

Maybe you are that beautiful colored bird

That sweetly shits on the head.

Or that pretty girl at the bus stop

Who never, ever looks at me standing ahead!

You may even be the vibrant colors of spring

But then that would be just a dream.

And you are depressing up to the gum boots, 

And you are slightly drunk on sober nights,

And you walk with utter respect for the heart!

And that alone guarantees you the spot alright!

And however you may gloat in your glory bitch-

Let’s clear this out for once and ever.

Stop thinking that you can overpower me a bit!

Stop thinking that I will quaver!

Just because you inject those memories

I am not going to cry a tear.

Just because I let you play with my stories

I am not going to soak up in fear.

You may show me those  places

Where I sat the lazy Sundays.

Or maybe those lovely faces

Which teased me on my birthdays.

You may show me those classes

Where we slept together in the summer.

Or you may show me those roads

Which we trudged on in the winters.

Jostling together with that girl’s name,

We walked on like some aimless drifters.

Or maybe those nights when we never slept,

And worked like donkeys for the day to come.

You cannot break me with these bitch-

With these puny antics, this worthless bitch-dom!

You just cannot, whatever you say.

Because I know these remain

With me, by me, all the way.

Bubbles of memory spread on a tray. 

And hey!

You should know your place:

You are a freaking, sullen, heart-breaking bitch!

Why don’t you just get lost and wash your face?

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About Zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

2 comments

  1. The worst thing about the best bitches is that they leave us after teaching us ‘how to live’. Sadly, those bitches are our idealistic seniors. :/

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