Even a tarman goes crazy
Feels like driving off the road,
Like eating chocolate until his blood sugar
Begins to reflect on his face.
He smokes a stealthy cigarette
And pushes a hidden urge,
Often in his own direction.
But the face of a tarman is a mirror,
Expressing only what others expect him to.
No, he’s not black, only around the edges,
Where he threatens to slip sometimes.
He lurks past soundlessly,
Leaving a million secrets to be guessed.
He is selective in his association,
With the ability to distinguish between
Those who get his work done
And those who smile, and smile,
And remain villains.
A tarman is a candle flame,
Scorching with a look.
Everyone wants to be a tarman.
She wants to look like him.
She wants her helpless addiction, her affliction, her needs, her hopelessness,
Her brain-mapping, her stealthy pacts with God,
Her cluelessness, her ruthless attachment
To be transmutated into a tarman
Because he exists beautifully without it all.
His experiences don’t show in his expressions of speech
Or otherwise.
A tarman has equal relationships, has as much love as he gives.
He’s indifferent to lesser mortals, oblivious, almost,
His deeds reflect in his peaceful demeanour;
His nails are never bitten to the quick.
A tarman saves the best chocolates for himself,
And, sometimes, for the ones who love him,
Not for the ones he loves.
A tarman is not freaky;
She’s learning to mend her freaky ways.
I heard the vocalization of a tarman today.
He needed ears.
He wasn’t afraid, or cautious, or hesitant.
He’s almost invisible. He doesn’t know how she craves to be like him.
To him, she’s invisible, too.
He has self-respect that she’s trying to copy.
He doesn’t go whenever they call, he waits
Until the best goes by
And all he has to do is pick.
He has friends, she’s getting there,
She’s got a few herself.
A tarman doesn’t give a damn what you think of him.
He believes in himself
And his ability to win friends and influence people,
Or something like that.
A tarman waits until he is ready for the world,
Not the other way around.
He reads poems written for him.
She writes poems, hoping they’ll be understood someday.
