Gods

This world, O friend!
has too many Gods,
too few godmen,
and the rest of us,
do we even matter?

 

Prisoner

Used like a rented house, daresay a whore.
With every soul I met, I stepped back some more.
Imagined monstrosities felt a chill from Ties and the boot.
Inquiring eyes followed, resisted every step,
Judging every action. Sugary words followed,
tearing away every bit of innocence and joy,
Until I felt no more, adding one to the heard of demons.
Symphony became cacophony, blood turned white,
stabbing backs, earning titles just to be stabbed,
by the likes of me, every time I emerged but cold.

Soldier’s fear.

I do not fear death, at the same time I cherish my life.
The mere reason that I cherish my life, and of those around me, takes away the fear of death.
I do not care how ferocious is the demon that I fight.
As long as he is a demon I will fight.
The worst of my fears is fighting a man, normally living earth dwelling man.
I fear the voice which tells me that the demon whom I fight is, in fact, a man,
that he also has someone to protect.
That he also is comfortable fighting demons.
That he also demonizes me.
That he also fears to face a man.
That he also is just like me.
That killing him is just a suicide.

Dreams

The fabric of dreams
binds flesh to bones,
entangles a seed to a womb,
guides a bird’s flight,
weaves an inescapable web,
the one we call time.
.
The fabric of dreams
holds planets in orbits,
makes the ever shining sun,
pierce through every known star,
makes a garland we call Universe.

I feel alive

I feel alive when death offers her hand, a dive into the void.
I feel alive while clenching my fist it sweats on the insides.
I feel alive when my truths find some concerned yet fearful lips.
I feel alive when a rifle butt stamps ‘traitor’ on my back.
I feel alive because no-one suppresses the dead.
I feel alive when I see my blood fights the grayness of soil.
I feel alive because one-day every tree will grow read leaves.

In the Midst of a battle ~ Kelsier

I saw weakness.
A feeble hero,
his fragile dreams.
With every blow,
he fell, tasted dirt,
befriended death.

Much before.

Much before we spoke,
trees talked with winds.
Dried leaves fell on roads,
stepped upon, they talk,
Was it always a monolog?
.
Much before the Clocks,
time wheeled the same,
it saw, felt, remembered,
and webbed an endless yarn.
Did time imagine reality?
Are we a fairy tale?

At times

So close
buried into my chest
yet so distant.
Waging a war,
against me,
for me.
Me!!
There is no me,
not within me,
in you there is.
In me,
it’s all you.

Postcards

For years now,
sent you postcards.
if not you,
Your postman is in love.

Pen, Paperweight and me.

‘I’ll create an ocean,
one out of my words.’
I told the paperweight
it quoth,’Then what,
Your people, illiterate,
They can’t sail,
Pages, inked or blank,
it’s all the same.’
.