Just another pretty poem.

if only you knew that i touched your feet,

every time my eyes fell on them,

that I saw you smile secretly while I wasn't looking.

I wasn't shrugging, it was a shudder

only if i could give you up for another.

if it weren't for you, this sweet pain would be but an unfamiliar stranger

and i'd still be searching for that unknown face

but there you are, a part of every crowd

and I cannot un-remember you.

you, with the depth of the seas,

only if you knew.
________________________________________________

Something which the Lioness and ShowMe came up with over IMs 15 minutes back.
Thank you, come again.

If only we could
Just eat and sleep and roll around in our own filth
And eat...and sleep and eat...

*voice trails off*
*lights fade*

-_-

our purpose in life.

Lioness' ambition in life is to become a mad old spinster with 80 cats writing a book on the failed lives surrounding her.

I, Showme, shall become the wasted sexoholic who ODs and dies at the age of 27 leaving behind a vast legacy of extremely bad poetry.

Danny will end up as the hooker standing on kalighat bridge whose sole purpose in life is to find the 4'10" guy with a perfect nose who forgot to pay her for her services.


Thank you.
Come again.

because this blog is dying

and no one seems to be reading this shit anyway.

Panic! at the Disco

So, exams start on the 19th.

What I have read: V for Vendetta.

What I don't know: Everything else.

What I don't have: Most of the material.

aami post korbo.
tumi aamake atkate parbe na.
doobe moro.

Eyes at the back of your head?

Sigh. I don't know if I should be exasperated, flattered or indifferent. *start rant*

A certain someone I used to know has taken stuff out of my old blog (presumably before I made it private), tweaked it a bit and put it up on their blog. The blog is so poorly publicized that I only saw this recently, and that too only because I happened to randomly log into my account in a certain social networking website where this gentleman relentlessly visits me. Some of the copying is so bad, that in some places he hasn't even replaced my "I"s with his own "her"s. Those are his only original bits. How flattering, thank you. =/

The second one is more annoying and still upsets me. This is back in 2006, when I was sixteen and a friend had offered to introduce me to someone who wanted me to write for his website. The website was supposed to be all about literature and the guy asked me to send him stuff I'd already written, which I promptly and naively, did. He wasn't supposed to put it up in the first place, but he did, without asking me (he has subsequently removed the credits for most of my stuff that's put up there). At 16 I was pretty non-confrontational and timid (except maybe when it came to feminism) and I let it be. The guy proceeded to give me work to do and then didn't pay me for it. The whole thing was a disaster. The website has now morphed into something indescribable. Even though I don't even relate to all the stuff that's up there anymore, I can't help feeling a little pang. I want to punch the guy.

And as if I need a little more drama in my beautiful life, as if I DON'T have too much work to do anyway, this third guy I don't even know that well reads my every word he can lay his hands on, and then sends me long preachy emails about my irresponsibility as a writer and how I don't talk about real issues. Why do I worry about cats when real people are dying? Why care about gay people when there are brothels? Shudder gasp! Immoral woman!

Actually, I think I'm going to settle for feeling amused and going back to work. *end rant* Hee haw.