On Perfection

Can I know how this world looks unto me?
As if it has been perfected from creation.
As if lord himself molded it from nothing
To a wonderment that us humans have ever seen
It is in the way we perceive the same
We unfortunate beings tend to beautify things
To the extent of equating it to heavens
Giants have spoken. That we are in a rush
To make the more orderly the more disorderly
To what far is this immaculate? Impeccable?
I shall say it is unreal. We live in an
Orderless world. In a potion of beliefs
And dis-beliefs. While truth is unknown
Or succinctly- unattainable in purest form
Then there where our wit grants no flawless muses
Where not can we find origin of our existence
And where our capabilities to pursue the world
In its most abstract and unadulterated form
Are constricted, and outcomes bear no semblance
This our pursuit in perfecting selves stands void,
Yet being devoid of motive shall better neither
Hence to the higher tasks should we divert energies
Towards the more requisite in our structure
Which can rekindle a euphoric feeling in us all.

The Other Side

Words have a rare power
They convey the charactery in a form
Which can be comprehended painlessly
But what words do I use?
For I speak to my heart, I'm left helpless
The two things in me, self and my other self
Have never been able to fix on matters
Obviously they are apart, just as truth and false
The result- I be left discontented
At stake is my peace and patience
What shall I weigh up?
The graver thing is that I turned irrational.

The more argumentative I tend to be ,
More does the substance in conversation
Seems to take liberties and far from reality
To the point of being pointless, reaches it
Occasionally I do think over subjects
Which closely relate to my interaction
With this world. It may seem rather redundant
To mention it. Fact is what and how we reason
It is because my ponderance limits itself
To the walls of my mind and only its expanse.
At some point, I had become so obsessed with this
My mind itself started haunting me.

The other side of my mind is a bleak place
It is pestered with conceptions and dry perceptions
I cannot tune it with happenings around the world
Neither could I make it transparent to the same
It though seems at sight to hold insignificance
Yet it has, I believe, the power of transforming
The way we see the world and the way we accept it
I fail to enumerate my attempts to achieve this
At the same time I am poised with confidence
To usher the reigning order to the world
I may seem egregious in my pursuances
But I hope to stand out to the borders drawn around.

Days and nights while I surround me with piled banters
With my own conscience, I be torn by the sternness
Of the situation it bounces to from a tender source
However I have to face it with supreme tenacity
My intentions are held always within a positive circle
But my mannerisms and approach has always
Been scorned because of the inherent peculiarities
Mostly I rubbish these and walk with an iron hand
Sometimes, not all times, even I have to bend
And so does it happen. I become discouraged.
The only hope that constantly drives my way
Is that my other side shall become myself. Hopefully.