Life

Warning: this verse is not to be believed or trusted or praised or romanticized. It is merely a product of a frustrated hand struggling to have its void voice heard. It contains nothing to think about; it is here to represent thoughts of disillusioned citizens of this world. It should be read at owner’s risk; it should not give you a splitting headache. It must be reviled and blamed; crashed and destroyed. It is a wicked portrayal of anything; it could even be arrested for its seditious remarks. It is a verse borne out of evil thoughts – the desire to pull down a well-built palace. That is why it must be read so that it must be carefully accused.

If life were the direct opposite of death; death’s own adversary
If it were a matter of freedom and bondage opposing each other
If it were an entity filled with war, hatred, confusion and love
If it were a tall mountain desiring to have its peak cut off
If it were a deep valley keeping nothing but death and all its aides
We would no longer care for our subsistence in this world
We would only let it be the controller of all our progress
We would not worry about agony and misery; joy and peace
Because if we did, we would go against the principles of life
We would be desiring to take control over things that we know not
For life is a long voyage on a stormy sea; a dangerous adventure
Life is a frightful advancement towards inevitable destruction
Life is just a fragile link between the body and the soul
A bewildered game played by prisoners against their guards
A bored horse no longer willing to take its master forward
Life is a slovenly nanny nursing a celebrity’s sick baby
Life does not tell anything about the future of mankind
Life does not calm a turbulent sea with raging fluffy tides
Life is not interested in giving peace and comfort to world citizens
It is not a Good Samaritan waiting to save a distressed soul
Life is no man’s ever-present companion; no driver’s flexible wheel
Life is just some emptiness filled with cold water and black smoke
A blooming flower that has not yet been discovered in the forest
A fruitless fig tree that is waiting for the painful moment of death
A purposeless exploration where kings have to care for themselves

If life were a football pitch with twenty-two players chasing a tiny object
We would conclude that human wisdom hasn’t yet been discovered
Even if life were a silent song resounding ignorantly in our minds
Breaking strings of mirrored images of our near and distant future
Covering our pain in greatest moments of our undeserved sorrow
Chasing children of our fathers to their weakest points of survival
Until they are defeated in their own shells where life is finally nipped
I would no longer want to be associated with life; with its definitions
I would sing songs that have no lyrics to praise life and paint its images
That are only there to give swords to leaders who are hungry for blood
If life were a fig tree growing on fertile soil and in perfect water supply
If life were a blunt knife used to make holes in our gentle bodies
If life were a mixture of sand and milk and water and romance
If life were not what most of us think it is while in real sense it is not
If life were a jugged log where foes are thrown to tear their buttocks
Then maybe we would no longer be interested in its progresses
Perhaps we would all want to make life something more different
Something that appeals to our wishes and needs even if futile
But life is not it; not its nearest colleague because it has none
Life is not living; life is not survival; it is not even death; not any
Life is a flower whose owner tends it vigilantly until it develops thorns
To keep away preys that have sharp teeth to munch it sketchily

If life were a corridor where many people are passing by each other
If life were a dark room where beauty and war are bartered
If life were a noisy bird singing in tall trees that surround us
Most of us would have shed innocent blood, putting life to an end
Leaders would be able to give us life and life would belong to them
Kings would be able to take lives at their own will without remorse
Mothers would be able to kill the unborn babies without care
Fathers would no longer care for their children who are suffering
Because life would control everything that takes place in our affairs
If life were a representation of a slave and his master and rebellion
If life were a secret search for truth and justice in this rotten world
If life were a raging storm in winter or a drying flower in spring
If life were a bed for enemies to lie together and feel good
If life were a collection of bones and leaves and stones and hatred
Then we would be able to find in it everything we may need now
But life is nothing at all; it is a pitiable participant; a deserted stage
A distant image of pain and suffering; an unjust connection
A delicate bridge that is waiting for a heavy truck to rupture it
A crooked progress that is celebrated by criminals and haters
A slippery playfield that portends failure, success, joking, swimming
A poorly written phrase on a birthday cake with guttering candles
Life is a disintegrated car engine failing to push forward its hood
Life is found in gentle children who do not know that they exist
Thus life is just a passing image; a shifting cloud; a roaring river

If life were a forsaken village track that no longer groans
After numerous footfalls are tramping on its bumpy face
Then after some time, life would defeat human intelligence
It would force everything else to be made in honour of life
It would rumble around and inscribe on our hearts extreme fear
It would be our guiding principle; our point of future transitions
But life is none of these; it is an abstract object that speaks not
It is a deaf master; a blind king; a crippled judge; a dumb plaintiff
Life is a burnt banknote; a careless striker; an unskilled goalkeeper
It is a selfish anecdote; a hungry giant; life is a rueful offender
Life is a messy child who desires nothing but his dangerous knife
Life is a complicated phenomenon; a deceiver of kings and masters
It is filled with cheerful illusions of unalloyed hope for the future
It is never contained in hills or rivers of forests or valleys or shadows
Life is a porous bucket that is struggling to hold steaming water
A brilliant flame shining relentlessly in the amber of the setting sun
A burning red rose in a garden crammed with magpies and bees
A peaceful snake whose hiss is like a mild flow of a calm river
Life is not a pot of hot water waiting to be cooled down
It is not a plucked fresh twig that was ready to bear the fruit
It is not a remorseful hippo that has destroyed a rice paddy
Life is not any of these; it is neither any of anything in the world
It is a red mark on the king’s face; a happy sword brandishing within
An angry wasp zipping irritatingly around a leader’s seat
Life is a disk jockey playing very crude music for a single listener
A thoughtless farmer who has planted nothing yet wants to harvest
Life could be any of these – or nothing of them, if it were us

If life were a darkened platform where poetry is recited by poets
An illumined dais where leaders reveal their treacherous manifestos
A holy pulpit where wicked clerics extol nothing but deception
A lofty tower from where the king watches his willing puppets evilly
If life were a multi-paged book with nothing written on its pages
If life were a poem written with all carelessness and vulgarity
If life were a swift rivulet flowing stubbornly in the blazing sun
If only it were a collection of poorly written verse and prose
An album of unsung songs with strong and disturbing lyrics
A compilation of censored and banned letters to the beloved king
No one would be struggling trying to describe and define life
We would all be having peaceful nights in our peaceful beds
We would no longer be writing to describe or define life
We would concentrate on something else and not life
Kings would no longer be blamed for shedding innocent blood
They would just be doing what appropriately describes life
They would live in their palaces without guilty consciences
They would rule ruthlessly if it means pleasing their wives
But we would still be in bondage, if life were a fool’s companion
We would not freely write accusing verses if life favoured kings
We would live in fear of them; contemplate suicide every minute
We would strive to please the king even against our conscience
But life is no respecter of imprudent kings or willing subjects
Life is not in awe of gilded palaces with deranged kings and princes
Life favours the humble, the brave, the generous, and the truth
Life cannot be predicted using a crystal ball or a glittering mirror
It cannot fall for human wisdom and let it freely offer a direction
Life is a willful collection of rudimentary paradoxes and contradictions


If life were a gentle breeze blowing in the midnight moonlight
With evil birds sounding their warning alarms to their prey
If it were a moving ship carrying coal mixed with diamond
If it were a story told by imbeciles and unconscious boxers
If it were a clever verse hiding behind horrific qualifiers
If life were a defectively managed stage for talented actors
A justified mistake by an untrained and willful play director
An overt contradiction of justice, peace, love and harmony
If life were any of these; or any of their connotations
Babies would no longer grow and become the next generation
Our population would be diminishing every second, every minute
But life is a cheerful giver to they that ask of it earnestly
Life is a fair object; a calm entity; an unsafe master; a singer
If life were a black pen comfortably releasing crimson ink
If it were a white paper with fine hazardous black lettering
If life were a small mouth eager to release chunks of rebuke
If it were a dead army commander or a dethroned king
If it were a hungry prince living in a palace of plenty
If it were a miserable queen who has deserted the palace
If life were what most of us would want it to become
If it were built out of our wishful thinking; our illusions
If life were as complicated as this description tries to make it
If it were not as easy as this verse wants us to believe
If it were never as difficult as these lines here assume
If life were any of what this dangerous piece propagates
If only it were this piece; this stubborn and uneducated verse
This complicated description that holds nothing in it
This cheerful container that is holding nothing but nothing
If life were this shameful verse; this carefree channel
If life were anything near this confused piece; this snag
If life were not even what this dazed piece says it is not
It would still be nothing; not even what is not said to be
Not even what it is claimed to be; to fight for a definition
It would only be life the way it is, not the way it is not
It would be filled with everything; anything; with nothing

Life is an expedition in winter; a lonely encounter with foes
Life is a tempting impulse to own everything; to be the leader
Life is a king’s oppressor; a conqueror of proud princes
Life is a sharp knife that no hand that holds it can control
It is a memorable event that has not yet happened anywhere
It is a book that has numerous authors, yet makes no sense
It is an enormous warrior who fears rats and blunt knives
Life is like a preacher putting on dark glasses at night
It is like a teacher who is reluctant to teach his own child
Life is like a seed that grows only where it desires
Life is like a match stick that gets burnt after forming fire
It is as pompous as mad kings; as fast as adolescent princesses
Life is like a hand that wrote this piece; this overcoming junk
It is like all kings in the world brought together to rule each other
It is like all princes murdering their fathers to take over
Life is a quick fire sparked by an unborn baby in its mother’s womb
Life is difficult to define; to describe; to discuss; to deduce
Life is not easy to understand; to estimate; to infer; to alter
Life is simple: it is not there to be analyzed; to be evaluated
It is not there for us to understand; to work out its meaning
It is simply there that we should appreciate it; we should value it
Life is completely different from anything given in this absurd piece
It is just a passing glance; a falling image; an overthrown throne
Life is as empty as this verse; as meaningless as this poem
Life is life: life is not anything, thus this piece fails to describe life.