I want to take a big hunting knife,

the kind you see in action movies

And rip 'the fabric of reason'

to shreds.

It is this cursed veil,

that has hidden from me

the truth about myself

The 'logical' plan it bears,

has led me to a fool's treasure,

A potful of illusion called -reality.

I have been

corrupted

by rationale

denuded

by hope

and betrayed

by life.

All I want now

is that Atlas,

with all his might

heave his weight one last time

and throw it away.

Beggars

You skirt around them,

you ignore them,

you pull disgusted faces,

you even poke fun at them,

because,

of some notion planted in your head,

"hard work earns you money - not pity"

but as they say,

"what goes comes around"

and believe me

you'll be lost when she

does it to you,

turns her back at your

outstreched hands,

refusing you

the alms of life.

Putting it together

"It's easy", My mother says,
"These are the pieces,
here is the final picture,
right here, on the top of the box,
just match the slots,
the key is to find the corners.
Go on, finish the puzzle".

I turn away, ashamed.
How do I tell her, I've lost some tiles.