Gates of hades

What is in your heart, and what do you preach?


Demons and Angels

Demons. What are they?

Angels. Where are they?

Gods. Why are they?

Follow the fairy of fragile feather.

Pretentious populous pridely predacious,
Thrive and think of things that are tenacious
Don’t demand from dubious debtor,
Follow the fairy of fragile feather,

Perpetually prodded at previous performance,
Thinking twice at the threshold of torment,
Don’t demand from dumb dictator.
Follow the fairy of fragile feather,

Puppets of poop patting the pigeons,
Taxing the textile of tentative treason,
Don’t deduce the demeaned denture.
Follow the fairy of fragile feather,

Preparing to propel, polished and plush,
Taking the tickets for the tampered truck,
Don’t dump the deranged daughter.
Follow the fairy of fragile feather,

Plots and plots of pits and pots,
Tots and tots of tiny trots,
Don’t demand the dead to drop,
Demeaning the devil to demon’s dog,
Deplete the dark, destroy the dimension,
Dare the demon to decry descension,
Diffuse the death to digressed divine,
Deny the demon’s destructive design.
Do not disturb the devil’s degrader
Follow the fairy of fragile feather,

The god with two faces.

Why is it that the world we live in is so meaningless

Why is it that the world we live in so full of life?

Don’t you think the world is consumed by Greed, Pride and Lust?

Don’t you think the world is offering Generosity, Modesty and Love?

If your past wouldn’t have existed, someone else would have existed. 

 If your past wouldn’t have existed, You wouldn’t have existed!

Don’t you realise you are just a piece of this world?

Don’t you realise you are the most important piece of your world?

What you wouldn’t have given to take everything from your enemies, I know. 

What you wouldn’t have done to forgive your enemies, I know. 

What you wouldn’t have done to erase the past, I know. 

What you wouldn’t have done to revisit your past once more,  I know. 

You know that dreams lead to hope, and hope leads to despair. 

You know that nightmares are temporary, and the more they hit you down the more velocity you will have when you will get back. 

You pathetic creature. 

You beautiful human.

You who represents every sin god forbade. 

You who represents every virtue heaven gave. 

You know it’s only meaningless to live in this world. 

You know it’s only meaningful to live in this world.

You are the Demon who have reigned in disguise. 

You are the Angel who have kept his pace in silence.

This curse of living, the burden of deeds, this meaningless idocracy of unfaithful buffoons. 

This miraculous journey, the joy of living, the euphoria of living, this amendment of humanity. 

Will come to an end so don’t worry. 

Will come to an end and you better hurry. 

The stale sandwich

Comes a carriage in the dreary night, 

With a few servants and shiny knights, 

Sits in it two beautiful royals, 

To whom the knights and servants are loyal, 

To guard them is the duty they will do dying, 

And they will not give up without even trying. 

The royals in carriage didn’t care for the world, 

For them outside the palace was mundane and dull, 

The gusts of winds and the howling wolves,

And the moon witnessed everything, standing there aloof,

Soon, as the moon took over, 

Little from the cloud it peaked and hover, 

One royal’s belly started to grovel, 

And it indeed didn’t prowl, 

He demanded the servant to fetch him something to eat, 

The servant obeyed and ran on his feet, 

He trawled through the cages and the packed bindles, 

But he couldn’t find anything in the dreary kindle, 

And comes he running to search his own bag, 

And found the sandwich for which he had to beg, 

Worried what will happen he took the bold step, 

He ran to the price to serve whatever was rest,

The price looked at the sandwich and he yelled at his lungs, 

And his hungry belly called the sandwich dung, 

Out from the window he threw it on street, 

Where the children of beggars were playing hide and seek,

One little fella saw the sandwich in dust, 

The agony of hunger came out in gust, 

He picked it up and thanked the god, 

And joyfully they gnawed, 

The price remained hungry, and the servant got the stake; 

In his heart for messing up with royal blood’s taste. 

The little old fella

One little heart that forgot to sleep, 

In the dreary night to see his dreams,

For the promises that revoked treaties in past,

For the promises in future that didn’t last, 

That little fella knew the pain,

But little did he knew he was in wrecking train, 

For the hope he smiled, for hope he laughed, 

For the workings of world that he never caught, 

The pretty little fella forgot to tell, 

From the height of ecstasy the little fella fell, 

Maybe the previous one just a fluke, 

Or maybe the destiny is a little crook.

He sang, he sang songs of many seasons,

He forgot to cry when he ran out of reasons,

The little fella still stays in the cave, 

Remains fearful walking down the pave,

As someone might stomp again in the path, 

And he will be crushed or broken in half, 

The fearful fella is worried till now, 

In the age of old where the fella frowns, 

At the young hearts chirping on paves, 

Dancing in the sun, basking in hay,

The little old fella flinches at the young, 

As he is fearful what will shall be done, 

How the young ones will be crushed beneath, 

The proud feet, and the hate’s heat, 

But the little old fella doesn’t not whine, 

Neither does it yell, nor does it cry, 

It simply peaks from his windows at the doves, 

To remind the little old fella what was love. 

I am ready

I am ready world, for your wonders, for your dulls, 

From the chest of betrayal I plucked out my lessons,

For the essence of divinity, I am ready with my shovel,

I am what you made me, the treacherous merchant, 

Now I trade in the sins for the temporary miracles, 

I now, don’t look for the ashes on the road,

I know that I will be just a little cog,

I know, I know, what the world did desire, 

To sleep in the wake of martyrs’ buyers,

To stomp on the feet of the broken wills, 

To chop of the heads of someone else’s kills, 

To use words, as the kings please,

To pluck out only that sense, which supports their deeds, 

I know, I know, how the world is full of hope,

And I know how innocents are laughable and how cruel is the joke, 

There is this line which every human ignores,

The line of divinity, which needs lives by score,

The braves are those, who dare cross the line, 

And foolish are those who willingly resign, 

From the war they ventured in hope of nirvana, 

For the house they built as home, to sweat in sauna, 

They fear the sun for the sweats it blemish, 

And fear the moon for night it cherish, 

They dance in the rain only when they can’t drench, 

And they worship that water only, which could quench, 

Now I see, how the world is a play, 

How my actions are nothing, and how I will pay. 

“the hell and heaven is here my son, you only need to see, 

You need to cut wings to just fall free” 

I didn’t grasp what the monk  had just said, 

I was confused what was heaven and what is hell. 

The Warrior of Rage

The warrior of rage held his sword,

Lingering alone, away from the horde,

The rage of his sword sheathed in scabbard, 

Is waiting for one last victory, one last battle, 

He who remained undefeated in all of realm,

Led the army in war, holding the helm, 

He held the scars dear and rebuked the medals,

Who butchered his enemies just like cattles,

This warrior of rage who stands defeated,

Has never in his life has ever forfeited, 

His blade of rage destroyed empires,

And he never in the battle ever retires,

But now he feels the guilt of his rage,

For the heads he slaughtered in his hayday, 

Now this warrior seeks for the peace,

Who ventured in the crowd just to cease, 

This solider who gave up to gravity of his crimes,

Waits broken in the field hoping for a shrine,  

He took out the blade and removed the red, 

Though as he held, it cut, but he never bled, 

Neither does his madness nor does his pride, 

Is willing to give up and they are hungry for fight, 

They whisper to the solider, “Grab that blade, 

Destroy these fuckers, walking in pave,

These lowly mortals who defy your respect, 

These crooked insects waiting for bread.”

The warrior didn’t feel, the warrior didn’t flinch,

He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t get the hint,

This blade he holds has killed millions, 

In the name of justice and in the name of rebellion, 

His mortal self suddenly heard the flutter, 

Two wings of freedom came out from gutter,

They flew till they got tired, 

They soothed his desires, 

They mocked his rage, 

They reminded him of his debt, 

But they were just messengers, and they stayed, 

As the butterfly rested, on the edge of his blade.