A wise way to speak is to let silence perceive—
Yes! Yes! That is the way to live.
Arguments and violence are the norm,
While the silent ones are obviously a freak.
Enigmatic world we live in;
Society rants status, yet none pass the criteria.
Oh, you've such a beautiful fever dream—
Nope, I’m just suffering from malaria
Everyone's a threat until you get them to confront ya.
Weren’t you speaking volumes?
Talkin’ about how you’d demolish me!
Nope, that’s just my dyslexia.
Even the once stiff Language now follows the belief.
Instead of “figures of speech”, there are “figures that speak”.
They swear to follow democracy! They care only about our currency.
Oops! I meant to say they only care about competency.
I swear it isn’t a gimmick! Oh! you meant to say Hypocrisy.
Well a little dilly dally is fine for such a huge democratic bureaucracy!
Let’s change the tone a bit.
These niche little hypocrites
Care only about positions, propaganda and politics!
You think they care about us?
Sure, when the chicken talks to sheep
which causes a flock of birds to beep, just like when “Thanos” snapped the gauntlet and blipped and none of us got up our seat and raged all over the streets when “Iron man” died on that clip. Welp let me order me a figurine!
These are the things that I’d rather do
Than hear you people preach about bigots called idiots!
(Hahaha No apologies for this slip.) I mean figures! Are you asleep?
Crude words that stick to anyone. Ribbit!
But trust me when I say these figures have powerful latency.
Sure truth maybe a little twisted
Like how dark humour is now everyone’s shtick!
I just bend it so that you too can steal laugh for a bit.
I vent in verses, absurd as concrete truths!
Ahem! I mean to say as absolute as concrete truths!

That feels like a little play fight, isn’t it?
Maybe my memory is rigged but I can’t remember a time
when there wasn’t a confrontation among the fellowship.
Maybe I am a crazy little minx
But it’s crazy how they get to fully live.
A grand life with luxury
That isn’t earned since they were born with it.
Well Excuse me for interrupting a serious topic
But wasn’t there a figure who promised
To build a machine where you throw a potato and get gold on other side of it?
Such a revolutionary idea isn’t it?
Such a great figure with masterclass tapestry
Even Victor Von Doom and Reed paused their fight to gnaw upon such mastery.
Okay back to the topic
Let me remember the times of brilliant dictatorship!
Time when roads were clean.
Homelessness wasn’t a thing.
Sorry, what? You said something?
You mean to say I said dictatorship?
No. I said leadership!
Yeah. That’s what I sai-
Oh! Sorry for the little slip!

Wait a **** minute.
Wasn’t that ‘cause the Poor folks were banned from sleeping
Near the area of regime!
Because it dropped down the housing stocks of the rich
They dropped down a ****** scheme!
I mean that’s understandable, coming from a bloating blob
You’d need a brain to perform a valid thought.

A Nuke of an order to clean the “****” with the machine.
Tragic how standards change
For one of them was the teacher
That taught the **** fool how to act pristine.
Now lost his job so slept near the Bungalow
Until things turn serene.
Now that same tutor is one of the many victims.

None with morality. Not a shred of goodness in them.
All money-hungry, power-driven, slaves of temptation—
Atrocious beings.

Yet we cave in when we are presented with a bunch of choices.
Just for favour or advantage from others.
We play the cards they predict!
And just like how the house always wins.
The circus starts once again.
It's not a party trick.
It’s not a magic trick.
Just a “figure of speech.”

Figures that, you’d speak.
Careful though or you may get the “Slip”.
                                                               — Asher Graves

Circle CirCle  
          
          In

Circle circle

(At the centre Centre
The Centre Centre )

No at the FoCus
At FoCus
focus focus

.......

Or at the fence
Yes maybe

The fence
The fence
Fence maybe at it


No at the corner
Yes Corner -
The corner

The corner ?
The Corner


Where ?
.....
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find

Where is it ?

Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find
Can't find

Maybe

In
Circle CirCle

       And

Circle CirCle


Yes where is it
Where is he
Where is me
Where am I
Why I am here

Why why
Why

At the centre
Why am In a ..

before you understand meaning,
you understand hunger and hurt.
you understand family and companionship.
rain and sun,
cold and hot,
tired and energized,
pain and pleasure,
everything is right here.

before you learn how to chase time,
you learn how to survive,
how to smile and cry.
when something is there,
when something is gone,
it’s forever.

before you find out you can look back,
you look straight ahead.
your mind has no clouds.
now your eyes are searching for more,
now it must be complicated,
now we’re all dizzy and blind.

do you know how to survive?

this poem is too simple,
i think it needs more.

The world is quiet now; the fading light
lies soft upon the hills, a gentle glow.
The sea extends beneath the coming night,
each wave a pulse of time in ceaseless flow.

Come stand with me, and hear the waters speak—
No voice of comfort, but a hollow song
of yearning deep, cruel, and forever bleak,
where hope and reason drown in tides too strong.

The clash is clear—our hearts, aflame with dreams,
cry out for meaning on the endless main,
yet nature answers not, and all that seems
secure is lost, like fire in the rain.

But let us not falter at the cold shore,
nor flee to gods or myths to dull the ache,
for though no meaning waits beyond the score,
this life we hold is ours alone to make.

And still the waves press on without regret,
indifferent to the cries that fill the air.
So we must stand unshaken, though beset
by stillness vast and burdens hard to bear.

Though life is fleeting, dark, and void of plan,
there’s beauty still—in love, in thought, in man.

There was a Young Lady who tweezed
The hair from her nose as she sneezed;
She then plucked her eyebrows from lowbrows to highbrows,
That plucky Young Lady who tweezed.

There was an Old Person of Cairo,
Whose exploits were carved into hiero-
glyphics on stones where a pharaoh's wrapped bones
Are preserved in a chamber in Cairo.

There was an Old Man of Kampala;
He prayed in the morning to Allah,
And in the bright light of the day, and at night,
That observant Old Man of Kampala.

There was an Old Man of Burundi,
Who prayed to the Salvator Mundi
Who met him upstairs and who answered his prayers
And who sainted that Man of Burundi.

There was an Old Man of Djibouti,
Whose substance was frothy and fruity;
A regular dandy with pickles and candy,
He dandled the Dongs of Djibouti.

There was an Old Man of Manilla,
Whose favoritest bean was vanilla;
He climbed up a tree and befriended a bee,
That beneficent Man of Manilla.

There was an Old Man of Beijing,
Who'd study all day the I Ching;
He balanced his qi with white rice and green tea,
That mystical Man of Beijing.

There was an Old Lady of Donegal,
A sister named Mary McGonegal;
She ruled with a ruler every pre-to-high-schooler,
That punishing Lady of Donegal.

There was a New Baby, whose nose
Was loving the smell of a rose
When it noticed the riper brown smell of a diaper,
Which offended that New Baby's nose.

There was an Old Man of Hong Kong,
Whose nose had a luminous ****;
It lighted his way by night and by day,
That lucky Old Man of Hong Kong.

Because of its whiteness
The White House is fattist
And racist and sexist
And thissist and thattist
     And agist and apist
     And probly a ******.

Act I: The Universe Breathes, and I Am an Afterthought

I arrived late to existence,
billions of years after the stars had their golden age.
Missed the Big Bang,
missed the Renaissance,
missed the time when love letters were written on paper,
instead of reducing feelings to keystrokes.

They handed me a body,
a mind that questions too much,
and a world obsessed with carving meaning out of chaos—
as if Sisyphus hadn’t already proven
we’re all just rolling boulders uphill,
pretending not to notice the futility.

Act II: The Weight of Knowing, the Lightness of Forgetting

Socrates said, “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.”
I read that at 3 a.m. and felt personally attacked.
Descartes told me, “I think, therefore I am,”
but some days, I think too much and forget how to be.

History is a carousel of déjà vu,
spinning the same tragedies on repeat.
Empires fall, currencies crash,
trends resurrect themselves like poorly buried ghosts.
The Greeks feared hubris,
the Romans feared the barbarians,
I fear how meaning crumbles when no one is left to remember.

Act III: Beyond Meaning, Beyond Regret

Maybe Dante was right—
hell isn’t fire, it’s bureaucracy.
Maybe we’re just modern Stoics in overpriced hoodies,
romanticizing the art of being okay with things we can’t change.

Maybe meaning isn’t found in grand gestures,
but in the quiet absurdity of it all—
in watching the sun rise like it’s not exhausted,
in laughing at a joke older than Shakespeare,
in knowing that despite wars, collapses, heartbreaks, and lost civilizations—
someone, somewhere, still bakes bread from scratch,
still hums a song they don’t remember the name of,
still chooses to keep going.

Final Scene: To Exist Is to Hesitate, and Yet—

Nietzsche said, “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”
I’m still figuring out my why.
But in the meantime,
I’ll sip my coffee, watch the world spin,
and pretend I was always meant to be here.

What am I, what's the meaning of me,
I asked the stars by the silent sea,
Am I but dust in an endless flow,
A fleeting breath where no winds blow?

In the mirror, time unraveled thin,
A face I know, yet never begin,
Am I the ripple or am I the stone?
Forever seeking, forever alone

Standing on the mountain, looking towards the sea
Knowing they’ll both be here long after me
How long have I been here, how long will I stay
Is the time that’s left more than the time that’s passed away?

When I was young, I felt that I’d been here before
It all seems familiar, but I couldn’t say for sure
I don’t know if I’m lost, or I’m just getting one more glance
Or could it just be that God is giving me one more chance

Why we’re here is an idea that nobody is meant to know
The only fact we have is that one day we’ll have to go
Tomorrow is something that one day I won’t get to see
And my Yesterdays will be the only definition there is of me

I’m an old soul, but my body still feels young
My mind has heard the song, but the song I’ve never sung
Time knows all of the things that are still meant to be
Am sometimes I wonder, did Time forget about me?