The curtain call- a poem

Before the stage are those who laughed and mocked, 

With their tilted heads they judged and they cocked,

We held our head low as they went on,

We knew that time that this time will be gone.
We are not aliens, we are the society’s missing attitude,

We don’t fit in, we don’t need to,

We play our games and we follow our rules,

You may cut our branches but not our roots, 

We have what you lost while you grew up, 

In the hope of beauty when you throw up, 

We lie on our beds and we laugh at your face,

We laugh how the society has caught you in the cage. 
Insane, inane, we have many names,

Knights and queens and pawns of the game,

We breath and eat just as you same, 

Yet we are dealt a different kinda pain. 
You find yourself in the eyes of other, 

We smile at ourselves in the broken mirrors,

We use the strength among us as whole,

Come on call again,”nerdy asshole”
We are the V as in Victory’s might, 

We are the wings of eagle’s flight,

We are not broken or shattered at all, 

We are preparing for the curtain call.


The ticking clock- a poem

The Clock ticks and it says nine,
I grab my bag and run to hide,
“I have an ache in my tiny stomach,
Mommy I think I should rest on the hammock”

My mom buys it and I am free,
With games and friends I will glee,
No more division of my cells,
Now I will play with my few friends.

The homework won’t bother for another day, 
That monster I have slayed is gonna stay,
In the books where it does belong,
Not in my brain to make it numb. 

Billy the bully won’t throw me on ground,
I won’t be pinned in the “lost and found”
I will enjoy the relishing dessert,
And afterwards maybe, a little homework. 

The clock says its ten and now I rest, 
Mommy don’t know about the pain in my chest, 
Maybe it will stop after I doze off, 
Or as the uncle said when the clock will stop. 
It’s a weird looking device on my wrist,
The numbers don’t go up, maybe it’s stupid,

Mommy cried again, she yelled in the phone,
Daddy has left, he is never home, 
The Clocks in my house are never the same, 
But if my clock says zero I will win the game. 

The depth of plan. 

..”You see Daniel, I was staring in the hole. Those eyes were staring back at me. I swear to god it was not fake. I am not making this up! You gotta believe me!” Said Pamela pulling Daniel’s collar. 

She claimed she had seen her father on the night before yesterday. Who is in prison awaiting his fate to be announced any day and see the world smile one last time from the gallows pole.
“No no, it cannot be sweetheart. There was nothing down there. We did it. We survived that hellhole. Now no one can touch us.” He remembered how hard it was to pull out the skeleton from the grave. As he waited and waited along with the moon, from the gravestone.

“But I saw him! I swear to god! I watched him crawl out of Mum’s grave.” 

Annoyed Daniel hissed at his sister as she went on and on about the episode she had. Maybe she is schizophrenic or maybe the guilt is residing in the Depth of heart, gnawing it slowly; spitting venom at her reality. 

She was surer than the moon that watched over them that night. Yet her own brother was questioning her sanity. She tells him that after they were done digging out the corpse of their mother she watched their father crawl from the grave, he stood next to the gravestone, touched the engraved name and kissed it once before turning his head and fixing his gaze in their direction. 

This is what she has been trying to make Daniel believe, but Daniel was as stubborn as his father. He says nothing was there, they simply dug out the grave, took what they were looking for and drove off. 
It is a possibility that he saw him there as well, but his conscious already knew that the father has been displayed in the public execution. In reality both of them have the gift of watching things that can be either divine or horrendous for normal populous. They see things that are there but the brother discards them as hallucinations. 
Pamela says, “Why don’t you believe me!? You must have seen him as well. Didn’t you? You saw him, right? Why the hell are you denying that! You saw him and I saw him what the hell is happening!? Is he okay?” 
“Look Pam, father.. ermm.. has been executed 2 days ago. The trial was over I just needed to have that ring removed from her finger. Something about it came up after he was executed.  Now if we can prove he was innocent then we can live off well for the rest of our lives.” 
“but didn’t we frame him to take the blame?” Asked a surprised Pamela. 
“we did sweetheart, we did. But you know he didn’t leave anything to us, she didn’t leave anything to us. Both of them donated everything they had. Him to that whore and her children and she did to that foundation she was working with. In the game of becoming great they left out lives deeply scarred. And this!.. this could be our chance! You can go for your modeling career and I might even start something close to a business. But we gotta stick together, we cannot prove anything if you or me say anything about father being visible to us. They will call us crazy and we will lose the case. We need to be strong..” He leaned in for the kiss and his lips parted from the sweating forehead of hers. “We need to be one!” 

Humble and humane

We are all possessed by rage,

At times we deny at times we agree,

Dancing along with the demonic sage,

We are the demons on a destruction spree,

We devour ourselves in the hope to be complete,

We cherish ourselves, only, everything else is illusion,

And this illusion is casted by we,

Where we seek peace in the destruction.

We loathe the sins of other souls in sight,

We deal with our greed on the virtue of sanity,

We are all have none but a little fright,

Seeking logic for our customary depravity.

We setup our rules, we set up our morals,

We define these rules by the ink of fear,

We manipulate them accordingly in the hours of horror,

And for the reason of failures we hold them dear.

For the rage, for the sin,

For the blasphemous kin,

We have the provision for all of the deeds,

Come, come and witness the humane demon’s creed

The world through glass- a poem.

The time has come to write this page,
To confront my wilful gobbling rage.
To kill the sorrows of wretched past,
To see the world through this shattered Glass

It’s funny how the world seem now,
It’s remarkable, I can see the sound,
I can even ride this hound,
Everything is possible, nothing to frown,

I see the gun just mimicking the bang,
I see the atoms having a soiree,
I see the wood welcoming termites,
Planning against as me as I write,

I see the bombs yelling kaboom!
I see the religion as a peaceful excuse,
I see the birds clapping in the sky,
I see the sea shivering in ice.

I watch the borders as the fade,
I watch the eyes as they gaze,
I watch the words to be used as war,
Mamma don’t let them take my car,

I see the man in the boots so shiny,
I see his children so gloomy, so whiny,
I see his coat, I see his tools,
I think he is gonna measure purity of my soul.

I see his gun aimed at my head,
I see everyone one begging to be saved,
I see the border is back on map,
The man is here for my final nap.

Senseless morality.

Somewhere, somewhere back in the town,

I was a king had a fucking crown,

With cape and a cane,

Walking around in the heat of the fame,

Bubbles, bubbles from the fucking dam,

Popping around in the kingdom of Man.

With a hound and a wolf guarding my ass,

I picked the crown from the filthy trash,

Inane, insane, waging over the golden game,

Greener grass was muddy as a plain,

When the battle ended after the final trumpet,

There were no customers, I was the lonely strumpet.

It rained. I reigned. Over the broken kingdom,

As I walked down into the hurling conundrum,

My cane was the Flute and I was the Piper,

Every eye was swollen and every eye was a sniper.

Back in action!

I am pleased to announce that the blog is back in action. As I was busy with writing some other things I could not pay attention to the blog hence I decided not to pile up random things and make it mundane for anyone. 

Will be posting soon.