PEEK INTO PARANOID

A poem about the life of a paranoid being and the way he feels and suffers without any help. his life and death.

A tantalizing cognizance, 
The enticing tumult. 
Merely a crusade of the paranoids. 
Baffling through the clique of suspicions. 
The gale of the resistive oppositional unwilling, 
Secured in the quagmire of imbroglio. 
The perky stability of enmeshment. 

The jaded sweat drops covered the bed, 
As dreams started evaporating 
With the rise of a New sun. 
Comprehending the complexity of ‘New’, 
It waited for an ocean in the desert. 
Old, worn-out pieces of memories could not form ‘New’. 

The sun had rose ever since, 
The water has boiled still now, 
People dashed chasing dreams, 
Fortune-teller had read the palms. 
And the moon had still followed a car. 

What was ‘New’ then? 
Recuperation had started by then. 
The rising adrenaline had by then 
Asked mercy for merciless killings. 
Those unheard whispers came in the 
Haze of heart in a way, 
In the crowd of moments, 
Inebriate, damned, shows the problem, 
A sense of relief, 
For the proud of self. 

It hears smokes of shadows that have left its owner, 
Prayer that has vanquished its call, 
Drooped down shoulders in the lap of dusk, 
Threw away hands of support. 
Lost kings in a far away cage. 
Time has collided with the fathomless. 

Why was it that the rift tore? 
The convalescence of the mind 
Was the root of combats. 

The ruthless killings of friends and families 
Tickled the back of the neck, 
A moment of discomfort, 
A pain of pain, 
Sometimes resemblance, 
A moment of gain. 
Weary the mind can be, 
The tempest of mind, 
A man without his memories. 

The sand clock had emptied its one side, 
Its time for him to go, 
Yet he loved the feeling when they flew wide. 

It was always a beautiful view 
Of light from the dark, 
The lights flickered a lot, 

His eyes were always damped, 
The life of a paranoid. 

How tough was it for anyone 
To deprive love from someone? 
However hard he tired, 
God had left for him, 
The clash of minds of the familiar strangeness, 
Some things to love, some things to hate, 
Although it was empty, forever that eeriness. 

The day he left no one cried, 
But the sun had rose ever since, 
And more paranoids lay searching dreams.