What I Believe

I believe that whoever we,
see, hear, meet, and befriend,
shapes us into who we are.

I believe that music,
helps you think and relax.

I believe that life,
is one big tree.
Leaves,
may fall off and die,
but new ones are always formed.

I believe that life,
is like the waves of the ocean.
Pushing away its obstacles;
shaping and creating new ones.

I believe that faith shouldn’t decide,
 how we live,
or how our future is going to be.

I believe that we decide,
on how our future is going to be,
based on our actions.

I believe in karma,
and when it strikes,
it can inflict you,
for better or worse.   

I believe that,
in order for there to be an ending,
there has to be a beginning.

Disgrace to All Bank Robbers

     It all started when two psychopathic retards charged into a bank. Of course, they didn’t plan their robbery meticulously, because one of the pedestrians spotted them running across the street with guns in their hands. These two retards were Jack and George. Jack and George had a simple plan for their escape, escape from the back and assimilate into the crowd.

     While they were unlocking the vaults and taking out the money, Jack thought that it would be an excellent idea to cause a dissension about who got more money. The original plan was that Jack would get 55% of the cash, and George 45%. The extra 5% was because Jack planned the whole thing out. While the argument took place, the police were gathering at the front. By the time George helped Jack realize that his plan might get them killed, and that Jack should be lucky that George would be giving him the extra 5%, they finally noticed the red and blue lights that appeared from the police cars that were stationed at the front door.

     This time George planned their way out, but this one turned out to be even more retarded. His demands were simple; bring them a limo with champagne inside, to provide a safe route to the airport, and to give them a private jet that took them to England; or else they would kill one of the hostages. George wanted to be lionized for their robbery. What was even more stupid about these bank robbers was that they left their guns on the table while they picked one of the shackled hostages to take with them. One of the hostages was a policeman, so he jumped across to where the table was located and took one of the guns. He shot both of the idiotic robbers, and then went outside to report to the other policemen-that surrounded the complex- about what happened.

The Failed Assasination Attempt

Anarchy was the right word that described the chaos that was occurring in the main cabinet. Every time someone found out about the conspiracy on the assassination attempt that was going to occur in three hours, were reported dead by a car explosion.

     When in reality, they were apprehended and shackled to a foreign area, tortured, then shot to death. Obama’s State of the Union Speech was occurring in three hours. People in his own cabin wanted him dead because they worried of him being a “socialist”.

     The only problem that the vice president had, was that he was going to be sitting on Obama’s left-hand side. He was going to have to hire a contact killer to carry out his mission. The contract killer is going to go disguised as one of the family members of the nine year-old who died in the Arizona shooting. But, the assassination attempt failed when security caught him. Of course, when they caught him, he was headed to the Federal Bureau for interrogation. Then CNN reported him dead in a car explosion….

Why Did I Let Him In?!?!

      As soon as Holden Caulfield entered my cab, he asked me if I knew what happened to the ducks in Central Park during winter. He seemed to be quite avid about the ducks, so the affable person that I was, told him that I thought they migrated to somewhere else. Instead, he rebuffed the idea, and he kept on asking me the same question over and over again. The conversation seemed interminable. So, I gave him my grimace look, and went on a tirade on how fish have it rougher than ducks.

     I might have demeaned myself a little too much, so I looked back at him to apologize; but the poor, irascible idiot just sat there whispering “ducks” over and over again. Now he starts to talk to some kind of imaginary friend (judging by the fact that there was no one in the cab). I believe the “imaginary friend’s” name was Allie. Seriously, a nineteen year old kid still having an imaginary friend, even I could tell that he was a recluse who needed a “doctor’s” attention.

     The weirdest and only phrase that I could remember him saying was: “Will you, Allie, help me embark on my journey to you?” I can’t believe that I was driving a disturbed, little boy. I asked him where his parents were; his response (in a four year old’s voice) was that he had no clue.

     Now he simulated to be some kind of James Bond character; some drunk guy who got shot with a pistol. He also pretended to have a gun, a first aid kit, and that he was king of the world. He held up his “gun” and pointed it at me. He told me to take him to Central Park instead of his house. He said he wanted to see the ducks. When is he ever going to stop thinking of ducks….

     The ride went on for what felt like an hour; an hour of insanity. So when I dropped him off at Central Park, the idiot that I was decided to wait for him because I felt too bad for him (and because he seriously needed help). When he came back, he looked dehydrated. The poor guy looked like he was dying of thirst; and at the same time, he was extremely wet. I told him to get dry, and that he might get pneumonia. He told me he felt like getting it-seriously, was he that crazy?

     I tried to take him back home as fast as I could. I made an endeavor to not yell at him, or to be so gruesome to the poor kid. When we finally got there, he paid me a fourth of the money that he owes me. I decided not to say anything because, judging by how demented the kid is, his folks wouldn’t even be able to afford his treatment.

Fooled, By an 8 Year-Old

     It was a peaceful evening and everything was in order. When, out of nowhere, my sister yells out: “Prashan drew a mustache on all my posters!” you might I think that I would, but this time, I actually didn’t… so while explained to my mom that it wasn’t me, and it was probably one of my sister’s irresponsible, immature, little friends, she grounded me for “lying” to her and for “insulting” the monsters my sister calls “best friends”. So while I stormed off to my room, I was thinking of the most devious plan.

     As most of you know, there are some objects that electrocute you when you click on a specific trigger. My sister had a pen that does that. So I had a simple plan in mind, switch the pens that my sister had and place the new, electrifying pen on her desk. That way when I ask her to draw something with a pen (which she usually does), and make her click on her fate….

     After homework; actually, after everything was done, it was time to put the plan in action. I go to my sister’s room and kindly ask her to draw a cow. But, she had the pen on her hand, have I missed the torture, have missed the suffering that would have been witnessed? No, she hasn’t found out about it. I ask her why she doesn’t use the pen I snuck into her desk. She said that it wouldn’t open. I took the pen and clicked onto my fate instead.

     The electrocution had a more stinging effect than I had remembered. I look at her, and she immediately told me her diabolical plan. She knew the pen was the secret object my grandfather gave her, she knew that I was trying to get revenge; she knew that I would click on that pen. After she had told me about that, she ran to my mom and twaddle tailed again. After my mom screamed at me again, I walked back to my room thinking of how prudent I was to fall for a dumb trick….

     I confess that if you try to get revenge, don’t do it because it will come back and bite you in the ass; 3 times harder. So I’m pretty much confessing that I’ll never try to get revenge on someone… only if it’s necessary.

Still Lackadaisical

He was in his room,
freedom has been confiscated,
thinking of so many ways,
to mutiny,
still learning to embark,
on that journey of his.

His image, still needs to be depicted,
learning how to pilfer for it survival,
yet, not conscientious.
Still on that slovenly stage,
willing to show audacity.

Still causing rankles,
to other people,
never serene.

Still lackadaisical,
still chained to the house,
that he calls a nightmare.

Why rebuke,
on prudency,
why do you always have
that inkling, that the person is wrong….

Oh Holden

I see you rotting
in that madman place,

I see you
being modest, honest, and a liar.

I hear you
tell us your devastating story,

I hear you criticize;
criticize your brother, your father, your mother.

I see you, I hear you,
behave like a child, act irresponsible, and act immature.

I see you wanting to raise the white flag,
I hear you scream,
but your ignored, unacknowledged.

I see you chained
to that place of insanity.

Oh Holden, if only
you listened, you heard, you saw,
you wouldn’t be telling us,
about your tragedy.