ABOUT THE POEM: We Were Stupid is a confrontation poem. It does not beg to be understood; it indicts the environment it emerged from and the self that endured it. The recurring refrain—polite on the surface, transactional underneath—functions like a chant society repeats to itself to avoid moral accounting. The poem exposes how civility becomes camouflage when desire, money, and power quietly dictate value. The speaker moves through a world that mistakes silence for incompetence and restraint for weakness. What is punished is not cruelty, but refusal to perform. The repeated accusation—“having nothing to share”—is not about generosity; it is about utility. Worth is measured in what can be extracted. Those who do not barter themselves are treated as defective or guilty by default. Blame is a central mechanism here, but it is not one-directional. The poem deliberately shows how external exploitation fractures internal perception. The speaker admits shame, hesitation, and self-doubt not as confession, but as evidence of damage. Trauma appears not as spectacle, but as a delayed inability to trust new images, new signals, new people. The wound is psychological, not dramatic—and therefore harder to dismiss. The mirror metaphor marks a shift. Discipline replaces explanation. The speaker stops negotiating meaning and instead reflects behavior back to its source. This is not revenge; it is withdrawal of participation. The “eviction notice” is symbolic: access is revoked. The clever, the transactional, the socially agile are not defeated—they are simply no longer entertained. The poem’s anger is controlled, not explosive. Its repetition is intentional, mimicking how social hypocrisy persists through repetition rather than argument. Each return of the refrain tightens the critique. By the end, what began as bitterness hardens into clarity. The salt that once kept the wound open becomes a seal. We Were Stupid ultimately rejects both innocence and cynicism. It accepts foolishness as a shared human condition while refusing to romanticize exploitation. The speaker does not emerge superior, healed, or enlightened—only precise. Precision, here, is survival.Title – We were Stupid
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
I miss good things when they arrive late.
I don’t play games, don’t stare,
yet take the blame for impatience-
or for the crime
of having nothing to share.
To my original approach,
I received only fake and stale replies.
Your behavior broke something in me;
to this day, I hesitate
to process new images.
What a world.
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
In a world where quiet is called dumb,
how can duplicate and flashy be different?
They only irritate,
leave the mind numb.
When you walk through my heart and it’s dark,
I feel you do it on purpose-
to disturb.
I feel shame
for failing to bring you light.
I wasn’t smart enough.
Now my excuses are only salt
rubbed into the wound.
The wind on the sea-
what could have been romantic-
was rewritten
to find fault in me.
I use discipline
to become a mirror-
forcing your selfishness
to face its own failure.
Khainch, dheel-
push, pull.
No bargain. Ever.
I don’t want you
in my mind.
You are clever.
The one who belongs to everyone
stays with no one,
relates to none,
loves no one.
You and I are the same now-
both foolish.
You, holier than thou.
But what a world.
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
I know it took effort
to find a naïve, soft heart.
The cat played the rat
too well.
Follow whatever desire remains.
Each ego belittled,
each attitude disappointed.
But what a world.
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
You took the money,
the change,
the coins,
and left the guy behind.
I don’t want your shadow around.
This poem is my eviction notice.
The salt once kept the wound open;
now it seals the door.
The clever ones are gone.
May their God bless them,
bless those who take the cash for ass-
because of them humanity still breathes.
Otherwise fools like me
would starve, would thirst,
and simply die
forgotten, at best.
What a world.
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
Sometimes the one who speaks,
who raises the question,
carries the true weight behind it.
Sometimes being the smarter one,
yet letting the clever ones
treat you like this,
becomes the crime itself.
I didn’t stay because I didn’t know.
I stayed because of character.
Character could have left
if you were merely mean or rude-
but once it committed to you,
like a dog to its owner,
it could not walk away,
it couldn’t move.
And I didn’t leave
until you yourself
told me-
why would I call anyone like you?
After that, I left.
It was insult enough-
for a man,
for a human,
for anyone to still stand.
What a world.
Such nice people,
beautiful society-
simply wonderful.
Give cash, take ass.
Respect little coins,
enjoy soft loins.
Additional information : The year 2023 did not arrive with the gentle transition of a calendar page; it arrived like an executioner’s axe. To understand the “Fourth Walk,” one must understand the specific architecture of a collapse that occurs not in the weakness of youth, but in the perceived strength of middle age. When the ground falls out at nineteen, it is a tragedy of potential. When the ground falls out at the height of one’s philosophical and physical power, it is a cosmic insult.
In the decades between the hallway humiliation of 2001 and the quiet carnage of March 2023, a transformation had occurred. The boy who turned himself into a 62kg wrestler with the force of a 100kg man had successfully integrated the “processor.” He had read the books, mastered the “emotional intelligence” required to navigate the human animal, and built a life upon the belief that discipline was a shield. He believed that if he were smart enough, strong enough, and provided enough “light,” the “simply wonderful” society would finally grant him a seat at the table of belonging.
But the world is not a meritocracy of the soul.
The days leading up to March 10, 2023, were masked by the garish colors of Holi. It is the ultimate irony: a festival of radical togetherness serving as the backdrop for a radical abandonment. While the “beautiful society” engaged in the transaction of “little coins” and “soft loins,” a deeper, more sinister game was reaching its conclusion. The “cat” had found its “rat.” The “clever” one had identified a heart that was soft not because it was weak, but because it had chosen-against its own better judgment-to be “uncontaminated” one last time.
The betrayal of 2023 was not a mistake of the heart; it was a failure of the world to rise to the level of the man. The realization that arrived on March 10th was cold and surgical. The “guy” was left behind, discarded like the copper change of a minor transaction. She took the “coins”-the attention, the stability, the strength, the light-and walked away, leaving a ghost in a cemetery to figure out how to walk again.
This is where the “Mad Scientist” was born.
In the immediate aftermath of March 2023, the mind did not give a speech. It did not offer the comfort of religion or the false hope of a “second chance.” Instead, the “stalled circuitry” of depression returned, but this time it was met with a different host. This was a host who had already died three times before. The “processor” looked at the wreckage and realized that the “shame” of not being “smart enough” was a lie. The shame belonged to the society that rewards the “duplicate and flashy” while calling the “quiet” dumb.
The Fourth Walk is defined by the absence of the “Romantic.” In previous resurrections, there was a desire to prove someone wrong-to show the girl in the hallway that he was strong, or to show the college that he was a philosopher. But the 2023 collapse killed the need for an audience. When the “wind on the sea” was rewritten to find fault in the man, the man simply stopped looking at the sea.
The philosophy that emerged from this salt-rubbed wound is one of Active Defiance through Accuracy. It is the understanding that “What is, is.” If the world is a marketplace of “cash and ass,” then the only way to survive is to become a “Disciplined Mirror.” This mirror does not reflect light; it reflects the “ineffectiveness” and “selfishness” of those who try to disturb it. It is a defensive weapon that forces the “holy cows” of society to see their own hollow interiors.
By the time the “eviction notice” was written, the transformation was complete. The “salt” that once stung the wound had been repurposed to “seal the door.” This is the pinnacle of the human condition: the ability to take the very substance of one’s agony and use it as a construction material for a fortress. The “clever ones” are not just gone; they are conceptually erased. Their shadows are no longer allowed to walk through the heart because the heart has been decommissioned as a public thoroughfare.
The Fourth Walk is a lonely one, but it is the first walk that is truly “styled.” It is the walk of a man who knows that “there is nothing for him out there,” and yet he walks anyway because the “warm blood” demands it. It is a walk that bypasses ideology and comfort. It is the walk of a ghost who has grabbed his own body and decided that if he is to move forward, he will do so with a “monumental courage” that requires no god and no witness.
On March 10, 2023, the man died. On March 11th, the “Mad Scientist” began his work. He is busy now. He is uncontaminated. He is finding what there is to find in the starkness of a world that took his coins but couldn’t handle his soul. He has finally realized that being “left behind” was not a sentence, but a release. He is going “somewhere else,” and he is doing it with his own light.
