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They made the child fat, they thought, 'Let him be cute' ,
then no matter of dispute,
he was taller than all his age-mates, laterally, of course,
had a crown on his head, virtual, of course.
the child was happy, his parents too, without refute.

Time grew older,
high would reach his shoulder,
he won't fit anymore in that folder,
Each moment he learned he was in no land of wonder,
childhood:jolly, adolescence:sombre.

He was forlorn,
thick man in a thin company,
thick thick thick, oh, so sick!
He pleaded,
"Make me thin, free from sin."

That perpetually dejected creature would now turn to his creators,
and ask, "What now? What more could I have achieved? I'm the earth's tumor,"
And they said, " Stand tall, look bright, son. Couldn't you use it for humor!"

Randomness

When you know that your knowledge isn't at the right place to become known, you know everything.

Record Number: Zero

But, you knew that knowing is drowning,
So, know more and drown,
The glass shows a clown,
No matter how much you frown,
Data does not bring a crown.

Therefore, release, if you please,
Release, if you might,
Art, unintended, is the most arty sight.

Decoration is adulteration,
Dilution of creation.
However, if accepted, lauded, positively nodded,
Criticism sneaks out of comprehension.

Whatever you gathered, whatever ran through those pages,
if you could taste,
you'd know it's the air you breathe in,
And, breath out, without tasting, in haste.

Aador'e Baandor.

It all started with a small argument between him and his parents which lingered on to take ugly dimensions. Poor parents had done nothing but turned the mirror towards his self, to show him what he was actually up to. Out of combined action of rage and despair, Jeet, would storm out of his house and would not return until the lapse of quite a few hours and collective strength of his friends. Hours of persuasion and request from us would find no avail, whatsoever, on his then delusional being. Eventually, he had to be hustled into our house at 2'O clock in the midnight by great means of collective physicality. Splashes of water, sweet reassuring words from my mother and edibles in form of biscuits and more would calm his jittery nerves down and lull him deep into slumber. There, on my bed, he lay flat, to achieve emotional, physical, and mental respite until he was taken away at 7 in the morning by his mother. Such a theatrical performance, Jeet.

Legendary

God help the child.

You be truthful. You be honest. You be obedient. You don't steal goods. You play it fair. You stick to your fucking principle. You plan and do things. You sort your things out. You decide today that what you're going to do 5 years later. You do what you want to be good at. You practice 18 hours a day. You don't want your father to fuck off when he doesn't give you the bucks. You don't smoke. You don't booze. You freaking pray to GOD and you ask for nothing. You don't want your friend to f eel shorter than you. You forgive the ones who sin against you. You be Jesus. What if any of this don't stop Karma?

Salt is peculiar.
And,not at all salty.

On an ordinary(0/365) day, when mommy, somehow, pictures the four walls of her kitchen to be no less than those ultra-thick, royally painted, superfluous walls of "The Grand Hotel", she does not miss adding salt to the food. Food is good. And, it has a taste(remember,not salty) which daddy expects it to have. However, on abnormal days, when mommy skips adding salt to the food. Then, what? Nothing. It's tasteless. You've got to add a tinge of it, yourself, and shoot those balls in. Now, what? How do those balls feel like? SALTY! Bloody salt. Bitch!