Gates of hades

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

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Demons and Angels

Demons. What are they?

Angels. Where are they?

Gods. Why are they?

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

Poets in Disguise

Have you wondered how the world would be?

Without poems and stories, that are free,

There is a price for everything in this world,

Even the pride, even the dignified hull,

But what if, I tell you there are things more gratuitous,

That they develop without any apparatus,

These stories that I say are conveyed not in writing,

Politely they stare at the world, enlightening.

These unheard anecdotes of inexpressive stouts,

Can make you emotional, and even intrigue to shout,

These stories that are concealed in their heart,

It would take an eternity to get them to start.

They are shy and reclusive and even abandoned,

In the world of no mercy, of branded,

They stay quiet and observe your every deed,

They are listening carefully to your mysterious creed.

The legacy of these writers is often untold,

But have a journal, in their hearts, kept unfold,

The time will come when these stories will arise,

They are waiting patiently, these poets in disguise

copyright © Philosophical Pen

Master and the slave

It tickles and amuses the subtle me,
As the master of mine pulls the strings,
As he throws me to the gutter indeed,
And tell me repeatedly,
“You are free!”

When my master owned me in my youth,
When his touch of hand imbued my roots,
He took a pity on me when he see,
Rotting in the cage of invisible steel,
My master held me close and made me glee,
He whispered in my ears, “You are free!”

I don’t long for love or the fest,
I know my master and he is the best,
He – the best string puller in the whole wide world-,
Told me “Lighten up, don’t be so dull”
My master pulled me out from the ordinary breed,
“You are so special,” he told, “You are Free!”

He scolded me as well as my friends,
He made me go lost in the darkened end,
But he took pity at least on my family,
He saved them from ruthless anomaly,
My master tamed me as, behind him, I hid,
He told me again, “You are Free!”

When my master got angry on my blunder,
He didn’t talked to me, and I wondered,
When he cut off my strings as I plead,
He threw me naked in the crowded street,
The populous stomped all over me,
My master rescued me, as I bleed,
Patting me head he made me believe,
As he told, “You are Free!”

My master and me are living in harmony,
I am a human and he is the money,
He made me his slave few years back,
When I was separated from the howling pack,
When he found me I was shivering and starving,
I was smiling as he was craving,
I didn’t dare to refuse his offer,
When I accepted to be his chauffeur,
As he took out my heart from my hide,
Pitying myself for the broken pride,
He told me at last as he made me see,
“I was a slave and yet I was free.”

copyright © Philosophical Pen