Weakling at a Stud Farm
Down boy.
You are not the man you think you are.
Your body is crumbling, your muscles are flaccid.
You've got blood stoned eyes, yet your vitreous placid.
You breathe in a pretense and exhale out fumes,
You're falling apart and it's not yet noon.
You blindly follow the man with the rod,
For you are a coward and he is your god,
You shiver with pestilence, with terror, with fright,
Oh, what a miserable plight.
You've been the follower all your years,
Been reduced to the dust, beyond blood and tears,
You're too weak to bring yourself back to the ground,
Too weak to even make a sound.
The women scorn you, the men just laugh,
But inside you there is a man,
A man with great power locked deep in his staff,
A mighty grip forced into his hand.
No, they will not see it, for they are astray,
They've been deceived and deluded like flies.
Like flies to a gas lamp miles away,
Curiously they will die.
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You've never been the person who has had any power to exercise on another person. You've never been granted that liberty. Or maybe you chose not to take it.
There's no fine line between a weakling and a stone man. There's a continental separation between the two.
So if I don't belong to one of the above, why do I belong to the other?
Because society makes that decision for you, friend. And note that you won't have a say in it.
Here's where you undo the misinterpretations of the daft and strip yourself off completely. Show your true skin and accustom yourself to the ever-retarding world around you.
You're a weakling.
So be it. For being a weakling is far better than being the oppressor of the weak. Atop the shriveled tree stump I stand upon, there is only scope for me to rise. And I've got friends to help me find my way up. You are the fall, the decline, the overthrow that will be renowned. For you are not the man you think you are. Your ego will smother you.
You are the true weakling.
9 comments:
Guess where Im sitting while I read this...in the hostel!! Go gurukul wifi!!
Your mood swings are starting to get weird by the way.
Weirdest post yet.
You ARE troubled.
A man with a beard once told me that the greatest achievement in life is to be a master of metaphors.
I'd like to think I'm getting there.
hmmm... okay i actually enjoyed this post. but i agree, you are troubled!
yeah. i try metaphors. and i'm getting better at them. because of my sooper-dooper english course. :D
and technically, joj, the stuff you write is fantastic literature. with all its room for interpretation. i applaud you, sir. but you ARE emo.
Emo? Hahahahhaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
o.O
Fuck.
emo-ness becomes you. and you have become emo. you have acheived one-ness with the emo.
Point noted. Thanks.
sorry joj, but it cannot be stressed enough.
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