Coffeeholic & Me – by, Farz

To the corner I go

Empty the sachet I know

Beans a brew

I’m on a blue collar high

With the screen

Staring at me all a-glow

Time to unwind

Tea? Not my kind of fancy

An hour to honor

My company

As cup No 3

Sets me free


Culture on a Plate

I often see myself
As an experiment
A sort of lab rat
A sample bound               To make or break
The sciences
Behind the wheels
That are spun
The cultures of
Bloodwork that
Go under the scope
The theories
That mostly
Trick the great
Minds into making
Them what they
Have become –

The exact loonies
Who require the
Exact amount of the
Exact dosage of the
Exact prescription
Of what’s exactly
Contorted &
Thwarted as
Superficial & Unreal

Old Car


classic blue coupe die cast model
Photo by Moose Photos on Pexels.com

I’m like an old car
Nothing wrong
With being a lil
Rusty, dingy, fumy
But unlike most old
Wheels that end up
In desserted parking lots
Or piled up on
Land of scraps and metal
I am vintage
I am old with a bright
New engine
One that still revs
Emits good minus
Disemboguing of
Pure monoxide
One that beams
Along a dark turnpike
One that shines
After a few suds and scrubs
One that tails
But still weary of not
Getting too close
To a hidden bumper
One that sports
A mighty smell
Even when the aircond
Is off
One that gives you a lift
When you hail for it
I may be an old car
But I am no junk

Why should I?

person walking on sand
Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

It’s all a waste of time

You give, keep giving

Yet in nano seconds

Forgetting needed practising

It’s a waste of worry

Cos when things are said

True or not

Hits hard when misread

It’s a waste of effort

People are just mean

To put in more energy

Best not to, keeping it clean

It’s a waste of wisdom

No one truly cares

They just nod to pretend

Joke later, how unfair

There’s no point explaining

It will be newsy when news get out

After some time, it gets dull

Can’t remember what it was all about


abstract art artistic blur
Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com

In a few minutes

You get lucid

In a few hours

You lay on the floor uncertain

In a few days

You think you’ve lost it

In a few weeks

You forget who you are

In a few months

You lack the ‘feels’

In a few years

You have outnumbered yourself

In no time

You just get numb

Still Standing


brown small ball dropped on water
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I hate that it hurts
And I can’t do anything about it
I hate that it hurts
And no one is responsible for it
I hate that it hurts head first
And I can’t explain it
I hate that it won’t go away
And I am left succumbing to it
I hate that it’s left a dent
And my circuits aren’t aligned
I hate that even laying down
And unwinding comes around
It holds me captive and outraged
And I feel sorry for myself and
For the One I owe my life To