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.

The kingdom and The river.

The walls ran thin, the bells don’t ring,

The kingdom of life is lifeless indeed,

And the river that gave it beautiful memoirs, 

Is now the adversary in the kingdom’s creed. 
Sun is up mocking the sight,

The veins of kingdom being flooded by sorrow, 

Yet the bell beater one feel droughty, 

Waiting at verge of less painful morrow. 
Shredding of sins, from the skin akin,

Purifying in a way that condemns the living, 

Yet the beating one feel righteous, 

Even though she is unforgiving. 
My beating one, longs for the one, 

With whom he drew his own kingdom, 

Where the rivers ran with gilt, guilt of pride, 

The kingdom which accepted her as his bride. 
The kingdom forgot that river takes turns, 

On the to him the river churns, 

Of morrow, of yester, of that wicked pastor, 

Who dipped in the river in the name of holy scripture. 
The commoners of kingdom refused to believe, 

That the river ran dry for a pitiful deed, 

From the love of whom the kingdom was built, 

Has left the kingdom in search of guilt. 
From the Whys and whens

to there and then, 

The river of life averted her path, 

Towards a morrow more beautiful than last. 
The kingdom which never had a river, 

Is waiting now for the rains and simmers, 

Maybe the river will come back once again, 

Even if she comes to drown the kingdom within, 

The kingdom will blemish for the final embrace, 

The river will end the sorrows of the concourse, 

The kingdom will be buried under the river’s bed,

And the urn of the ashes will sing in river’s Grace. 

The Silence of World. 

The world became silent, 

When the cursed ones were cursing the rest, 

When the zoos ran out of pets, 

When the roads of life became grave of dead,

The world stood silent, resting at the edge. 

The world screamed for hunger and home, 

The world loved those painful portraits and poems, 

When the child in picture died outside of the cage,

The world stood silent, resting on the edge…
When the rape raged the rumours of recitals, 

When the masks of humans hid the tumors from trials,

When the apes aged and ate ablest, 

The world stood silent, resting on edge.. 

When the father and mother were thrown, 

From the house they built and the love they homed, 

The children who claimed that house in zest, 

The world stood silent, resting on edge..
When the widows wailed for the waiving warriors, 

And the sun stood shining sinning in somber, 

When the chest of pride were left to rot, 

Then the world came yelling, for the righteous frost.

Waiting for a Miracle!

Oh god, oh god, where is the miracle?

Why don’t you tell me where to look?

Guide me to the path, towards pinnacle,

Which stones to turns, to read which books? 
Was is it in the past, when I was blind?

When I was kid, in my mind that wasn’t sane,

When I fought my insanity to become fine,

When the world was less cruel and life was a game. 
Oh Lord, oh Lord, why don’t you tell?

Just one question and I will be free

Am I the Hero or Villain of this fairy tale?

Or is there a different role in my Destiny?
Where is the miracle? I ask you again,

Is it in the future for which I am prepared?

Where I will dictate the rules of this game.

Where Sun will be obstacle and miracle will be shade. 

Oh God, oh God, reply to me once!

Why this illusion? Why this charade?

Why make me dull? Why make me dunce?

Why are you making me walk in this naked parade?

“The miracle exists and I have given it you, 

I have presented you with quil of your destiny, 

Why do you cry my child, why looking for clues?

Why beat yourself in the invisible game of mutiny?” 
Daily prompt- Waiting

Value of sacrifice. 

One should always value oneself more than the sacrifice. Sacrifice reside in the deed not the world itself. What’s the point of sacrifice when it’s Value is worthless. 
It doesn’t ask, it doesn’t preach. 

It doesn’t hide, it doesn’t seek. 

It lies to eyes, in light it denies,

It’s not that far, it’s quite near indeed. 
It lies in the glass which a mother rejects by lying,

It lies in the blanket when there is nothing to hide, 

It lies in the bread harder than concrete,

Value of the sacrifice lies in the deed. 
It hides in the smile of the lonely mother,

It lies in the courage of tortured daughter,

It’s denies the right to the preacher in guise,

Value of the sacrifice lies in the deed. 
It finds its way in the brothers’ quarrel,

It finds it’s bay in the drunkard’s barrel, 

It hides from out the player best of greed,

Value of the sacrifice lies in the deed.
It stays in the pride of painful back, 

It stays in on the cheek crimson after slap, 

And it surely doesn’t live in the group of Holy beads. 

Value of the sacrifice lies in the deed.

Dilemmas! Necessity of evolution.

Now you see child, why dilemmas are necessary. 

Why they are required for the growth of humanity. 

They give humans a chance! To pick among the two. 

Former or the latter, which truth is true.
Once there was a child, 

To be a grown up he cried, 

His dilemma was simple,

He grew up and regretted his life. 
Once was a solider,

Hasty on the border,

He had to choose between brother or border. 

He killed the former and chose the latter. 
Once was a man, kind and gentle, 

He was the priest of the highest temple, 

He had to choose between purity and virtue. 

He fed the child and let the stone die of hunger. 
Once was a king, of a realm unknown, 

The plague had his kingdom blown, 

He had to choose desertion and death, 

He left the kingdom to rot, and long he was gone. 
The tales are many, the truth are few, 

Truth is the morning, lies are the dew,

Now you have the chance, to choose between the two. 

Former the or latter? Which one is true?

Dilemma

Pretender. The dumb-charade.

Paradigms of periods preconceive perhaps,

Regardless rejoining, rejecting rejoice, 

Eliminating elements egocentric to every-

Time, to tell the tale to the treachery’s teacher too. 

Engaged eloping from eccentric end. 

Neither nonsense nor nuance, nor 

Denouncing deeds, destroying democracy.

Egging the eyes of enemies equally energized. 

Readily red redemption; reeking of rendered rendezvous. 

Daily prompt.
Pretend