The Ugly Face of Happiness

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What if happiness is not sweet salvation, but poisonous seduction?

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Happiness is a wretched prostitute,

in fancy clothes and a painted attire

Her seduction is old, in fact, it is ancient,

but it tastes fresh on the lips of desire

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Happiness is the sprinkled and colored dust;

on a butterfly’s wings as the summer lingers

The colours seem eternally captivating,

but they fade within the grasp of greedy fingers

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Happiness is a deceptive illusion,

projected by the frozen moments of time

The illusion seems perfectly alluring,

but it shatters with the very next chime

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Happiness is a vulture atop the tree of life,

disguised as a magnificent bird of paradise

The brilliance of its colours blinds the eyes,

while its greedy heart is as chilling as ice

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Happiness is opium dulling our senses,

overwhelming the awareness like magic

Its fumes give a pleasure so insane,

while it blinds us to the misery, so tragic

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Happiness is pursued, yes, but only by fools,

but it is not trusted by the wise, not at any cost

Happiness breeds hard and cruel insensitivity,

while sadness brings understanding, when all is lost

Once I wanted to be immortal

A haunting journey from the hunger for immortality to the longing for silence.

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Once I wanted to be immortal;

experience each pleasure that life was offering,

and live each dream, my imagination was proffering

But then I saw, and then I observed,

each pleasure came with regret and too much pain,

that dreams were a loss, and not really a gain

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Once I wanted to be immortal;

live each day with laughter, my heart brimming with joy,

and love the whole world, its beauty, and its clever ploy

But then I saw, and then I observed,

all joy was fake, and happiness was only opium,

that love was a farce, enacted from an egoistic podium

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Once I wanted to be immortal;

experience all my wisdom could understand and reach,

learn all the lessons that life could ever teach

But too many years have passed, and I have grown up;

now I just want to fade away and dissolve without a trace,

and sleep a blissful sleep, far beyond this time and space

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Now, every trace of my presence, I just want to erase,

the glory is all gone, and extinguished is the blaze

Now, I just want to find a way out of this fucking maze,

I just want to get out, without any kudos, without any praise

Go where there is no more me, no desires or ambition,

where all is always silent, the realm of the Great Magician

The memory of pain

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Pain does not end when the wounds heal. Instead, it survives as memory, breathing through regret.

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The memory of pain perhaps causes more pain,

when all was exposed, an artery and a vein

The exposed nerves kissed the cruel air;

while the dark, flowing blood, left a stain

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The memory of pain is walking the road of regret;

each step burdensome — breath, blood and sweat

Kicking small clouds, dust of old guilt,

the downward journey is certain and all set

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The memory of pain is smelling the stink of loss;

the rainclouds have long gone, as speaks the moss

The body breathes on, drawing in the poison;

soul becomes the victim and is hanged on the cross

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The memory of pain is an assault on the senses,

the heart is filled with misery, thinking of pretences

All exposures and encounters, victory of the ego;

the eyes fill with tears, surrendering all defences

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The memory of pain is what keeps some alive;

breathing and moving, trying to survive

With each dawn, there is hope, salvation or damnation;

the wait is balanced delicately on the edge of a knife

Where is that Sweet, Sad Place where Elephants go to Die?

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A journey into the mythic graveyard of memories, guilt, and dreams that refuse to die.

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Where is that sweet and sad place,

perhaps lost forever in both time and space,

upon the brazen earth and under the grey sky,

where elephants go to die?

Strength and might sometimes fail,

in the face of raging fire, rain and hail

Failure exhausts the strongest of souls,

when we repeatedly fail to achieve our goals

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Where is that dark and cold womb,

devoid of all life, it’s really a tomb,

when one fails each challenge and test,

where worries finally come to rest?

Worries, which were once peacefully silent,

but now extending their tentacles, cruel and violent

My worries are not making a submissive bow,

my worries are kicking and screaming now

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Where is that vast desolation of heart,

where the sun never shines as the clouds do not part,

where all of us are destined to be, the fools and the clever, 

where dead love breathes its last and rests forever?

Memories, which were once pretty and colourful,

but now have haunting eyes, dull and dreadful

Memories are not compelling me to make a new vow,

my memories, are dead and only skeletons now

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Where is that unfathomably deep, black hole,

which silences all greed, and the dreams it once stole,

where regrets crawl and plead infernally,  

where guilt is finally dead and is buried eternally?

Guilt, once a rare acquaintance and even a stranger,

it was a horse called Diablo, without a ranger

My guilt is watching me with a frowned brow,

my guilt is a monster, a menacing presence now

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I fear their accusations, their dead, hollow stare,

the evil was afar, yet somewhere close here

I loathe their presence and hold onto my spear,

the damnation was afar, yet somewhere so near

My anguish and my fear, I scream and I mumble,

my agony and my dread, I run and I stumble

I scream and I run, I make a final try,

to reach that place where elephants go to die

There is a Child in All of Us

When ignored, the inner child does not vanish—it fades quietly.

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There is a child in all of us,

waiting to get out and scream

No real worries and without any care,

pushing all limits and trying to dream

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There is a child in all of us,

attempting to solve the puzzle called life

No actual problems and without any caution,

carelessly running on the edge of a knife

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There is a child in all of us,

needing to be loved and love in return

No apprehensions and no hesitations,

scalding his innocence at life’s each turn

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There is a child in all of us,

wanting to dive into the whirlpool of fun

No lack of excitement and too much energy,

jumping ahead of all and having a good run

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There is a child in all of us,

a stranger to the demons of silence and guilt

Breaking all barriers and the walls we build,

no concerns for the milk wasted when spilt

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There is a child in all of us,

crying to be heard and followed unwisely

Harbouring sensitivity and deserving empathy,

dying when ignored and forgotten quietly