I Hate My Self - Poem by Aftab Alam
…Should I write the truth that gives pain?
Or vice for enjoyment, helpful for drain
Time is precious, furious and unbeatable
Holy words when hit on heart, unbelievable
They preach only without practice, showy
They are, angelic look with attitude ghostly,
Time has come; you yourself have to act as Messiah
Be ready to be engulfed by open terrific jaw
Candle is burning giving light, we are seeing
How long one can burn their heart with blind eyes?
Mind that plays, intellect that slays; we are bleeding
Where is wisdom in a Pandora box! Tell me o wise?
Shoot me at my belly; bullet shouldn’t stuck must kill
Otherwise through intestine it will find the way to spill
What is the use to read, making a rosary with bead!
Money matters, only money to lead; poverty to plead
What humanity! Neck is hard pressed under the foot
Stitched lips! Eyes closed! Whisper of verse! religions loot
Let us try to wrap everything, enough we heard
Fly high and high above the earth, to be a holy bird
Comments about I Hate My Self by Aftab Alam
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You