Tuesday 19 February 2013

The Trojan horse: I fight for a lost cause because I would win.

Stack the straw, stack the straw and the wood and hammer them and sew them and wrap in the rogue elements, let them in through the vents. You could use a bit of confetti to cushion the motives lest they would leak from the vents you leave for sufficient oxygen. What are the they, the weaklings you harbour, like the microbes that are too feeble to see the sunlight? They are liquid, worse they could be sublime and fumigate in the open before they pave their way through the walls .They will evaporate and dissipate in the open.

What should have been burnt at the gates I let in. I welcomed them in with trumpets when I should have rung on the clarions and the drums for a battle. The fumes did rise from the vents, they were toxin, They swept like a thick puff suffocating my guards,they spread to ravish my inhabitants and then they ruined the structures.I lost a war but the battle lasts. When ruined and ravaged I did not care of the consequences, You have only annexed, You will never conquer.
I set ablaze that horse and sealed the doors to my city. I let the fumes  be the air and I destroyed my own , I let the blood be the streams and I plundered what I had nurtured. I took a pint of my water pristine, a handful of my soil untouched, A sight of my sky cerulean and the air I held in my lungs with my breath , the fire in my heart was never vanquished. With the remains of my five elements I create a Utopia.

 Because you did count each straw in your cavalry to make the one horse that fell my city,
 You counted each straw in the city when you set fire to it.
 But my spirit is unharmed in uncountable and in essence.
 I rise from the fragments as I have always.
Idealist still, The chaos in your order, the anomaly that you thought you were in my city, the chink in your armour. I am , I will be.


Tuesday 5 February 2013

A Hero and A Clown: The Dichotomy of a single existence

With a whimper of a sound
what should have been a thud,
he fell from our pedestals,
and crumbled ,not even bled
OUR HERO IS DEAD!
                               
                                       Aah the anguish, oh the pain,
                                              the tears were all in vain,
                                               he died not valiant but fled
                                          OUR HERO IS DEAD!


his cape was found all soiled,
he dispassionately had toiled,
to keep his dying flame,
his promises and his name,
one costume had he donned
another one on him spread.
Our hero is dead!
                                            Do you know what of him became?
                                           not a chaff of dust or a grain
                                             the diminished are left for martyrs  
                                              but he died in utter disdain
                                              your bitterness outweighs your pain?
                                              Yes, it is so plain,
                                               I do not cry, we will not mourn
                                                 we let out our ire in groans
                                             He wore a mask to please,
                                               the charade now just plays,
                                              on a painted plastered face.

OUR HERO IS NOW A CLOWN!he brushed aside our hopes,
and brushed on self some hues,
he drew an ear to ear grin,
to cover a perennial frown
OUR HERO IS NOW A CLOWN!          
                                                     Oh, the others are amused,
                                                                                 and he is happy too                                  
                                                                                At the vibrancy of those hues
                                                                                 few can tell faces from a face,
                                                                                   he makes merry out of disgrace
                                                                                  We have cried and we have wailed
                                                                                    How blatantly he failed
                                                                                    you and I in our expectation
                                                                                     He was the manifestation,
                                                                                     of such strong belief and passion,
                                                                                     there is no place for reason
                                                                                     The man changed like a season.
I am flustered, I have rued
I kept from you the news,
Can't keep you from the blues,
You'll find them scattered around
OUR HERO IS NOW A CLOWN!
Die and die in your pain,
Do not hold the blame

it is not yours to keep
Our hero was too weak.

baseness does not run amok
in the higher self you became,
But you can not take the blame!

You will not take the blame!

A silence we will keep,
A grave we will dig,
We will bury his cape and mask,
and then laugh while we dance,
over the soil we will press our feet
and the epitaph will read....
Here lies that one man...
we loved and thus he could not  be.
We take from him the wings,
we take from him the baton
and we hold them in our hands.

                                                The world took away your hero?
                                                 The world will take your pain
                                                 There is much pride in living
                                                  In his existence there is no shame.
                                                  LONG LIVE OUR HERO!

      


                                                                                 
                                                                                   
                                                                                   

                                                             

Sunday 3 February 2013

Deluge and Surface

The keratin is dead as well as before,
I float ,I float, bobbing over waters
buoyant under the skin,
bloated in the insides
and salined on the core,
I float , I float, I float.

Fluids bodily in fluid
I sank in the waves now  inspid,
and the waters were all tepid,
I drown,I drown, I drown.
Comfort is such a lulll song,
All that is dead is longed.
I creeped through the weed
and breathe in the algae
marshed in diffusing flesh,
the dissolving is my remedy .

My emotion is such a blunt anchor,
My stall is such a brief pause,
My mind is no rusted craft,
my heart is a makeshift shaft,
till it drives me,
It would pool in it's own blood
and thump like water bowl lake
making a tinkling sound
on the bamboo sticks light beating.
the bamboo oars were left for paddling,
the boat I left for sinking,
the dead I left for thinking
and the deluge I took for land.
Where do I stand?
Where do they stand?Where do we stand?

I float,I float ,I  float
strands of hair float
stranded and bare float.
I plunged to search for you,
I'll take you to the land,
I'll take you from the floods
and put your feet to stand,
but I, I just want to drown now.
The deluge is my land.
I do not seek to stand.
I was made to swim or sink,
To feel neither to think.
I'll take my raft for shore,
not an inch less, not one more.