Talal Athar

Rookie (30-08-1994 / Islamabad, Pakistan)

The Story Of Mr. Anderson - Poem by Talal Athar

Born in that town where it was never too late
Press Zero to learn the new faith
Enviroment encouraging self trade
Lesson 1 was 'how to hate'
Here comes the story of his forgotten face

By the time when it was that time when Mr.Anderson was really fine he wrote a line sitting beneath a pine that ''God make me Lord''. He wrote it. He wished it. Dreamt it. Felt it. Had it. Too much of fantasy he thought he had it in reality. Praised and blamed himself for this controversy. Inhaled the oxygen of Rage en Love, whoofed it on the city of lust. Completely missed His shot. It turned into an Upward Rain. O M G talk abouth this God damn new wonder, newspapaers headlined with newly appointed God's blonder.

Lightless thunder. Silence Hunter.

His eyes opened courtesy Silent Screams. Looked at the mirror and saw a DIVINE wannabee. Couldn't believe what he dreamed. Thought of hitting the high ultra beam but was already doing his Worst in the Main Stream. Just another midclass, not sure what he wanted to be, met a girl Certainly NOT of his dreams. Both tried hard to move along. Their first tour was to the valley of Happy Start - a land proving happy faces are the just the signs of the dreadful drenches coming above.

Hand in hand, mind in heart, they walked through a road advertised by masterbated love, into a planet inside a planet where they both got burnt by their own existence of frictions sponsered by frictionless Resistance of their Nuclear Fisson like demanding evolving expectations, infinity invovled type fractions were the questions they had to put simplification upon. Was not that simple to get rid of that temple and the journey is far from started folks, the pain they were suffering had no emergency fire exit button cause when a needle finds a way to the core of your heart then you really dont know how to fall. Ever all means nothing at that time its more like an Electron Bombarding with Neutron- an atomic collapse and so did Mr. Anderson was in his Relapse, just as when the started to fact file talk the Wisdom Of Thrash. Layed down to his Mother's lap, he sincerly didn't watned to rap or to write the notes with the same old line BUT the misery of Be cursed and cursed again was too much for the taking he had to do something for the making and stop his life from the shaking.

Better start the tracing of his forgotten past, Sun shined dark when Mr.Anderson learnd the art of Heart Mark. Way too difficult then a Brain Fart. Death comes Fast. So he decided to remove his mask - A Cold Bloddy Time Stopper Task!

For being the change he lived to see, he pushed the button in that undiscovered bay which turned his present day to the fu**ing next day and with his eyes expressing Explosion and his heart showing Frozen Storm he worked on that super project making him the Executioner, Prosecuter and the Jury of his story but that was just the apetizer the main big mac was his work on being the Writer, Producer and Director of his own Blessed with Cursed life!

A tetra-valent Impossible work! He payed no attention the sluts calling him too much in INSELF stud. Hardcore what otehrs think, he had his own aim, the only aim- to make his life a life and as of expected he lost his all friends, the parents the great ones the special ones. One alone Sniper trying to target that imaginary Piper. Days went long. Years went short. He started to loose his thrust. New definated explanation of ''being lost in the middle of nowhere''. But his only hope was his fucking strategy! without having some one to share his heart feelings the plan was leading to an Ultimate Ultra Tragedy. thats when he realised 'FU*K THE WHAT' is just as questionable as 'WHAT THE FU*K'!

Now the only thing that was left to do was to die in a different way. Injected his blood. Collected Packets. Splashed it in a tub. Made it an electolyte. HAH fear words! THE BATH OF DEATH! Went it. Plugged in. Yelled, '' Viva La Crazy Me''.

Wrapped in his own Blood, Mr.Anderson Died!

Let the pain tick its clock hours
Show some patience, love the Flowers :)
Rain rain, dont go away
Extinguish the flame of our Ego Fame
At the Fuenral, May God Bless Him and ALL
Toys got expensive, we got Defensive
Time to stand up and clean this Circus :)

Comments about The Story Of Mr. Anderson by Talal Athar

  • Ellias Anderson Jr.Ellias Anderson Jr. (7/15/2012 8:55:00 AM)

    Fantastic.....nice... i really love your poem. it is unbelievable! nice work of Art! (Report)Reply

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Poem Edited: Tuesday, July 26, 2011

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