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

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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

The Eighth Sin- Betrayal!

Aah, the seven sins of humanity. Greed, sloth, gluttony, lust, pride, wrath and envy. The sins that defiled and evolved humans. The sins that of hell. The demonic association.

But these sins have ignored one of the most dangerous one. Maybe we all consider the The Eighth Sin to be destructive and yet in the seven sins it doesn’t have any place. The sin that pierces the heart, the soul, the shell of a human is the sin of betrayal.

If we talk about the early poet, Dante Alighieri. Then we know what the commotion is about betrayal. The sins might can form a web and yet the sin of betrayal will be the spider prowling in the center. Maybe that’s why, Dante knew or observed, Betrayal was the worst. And he placed Betrayal at the bottom of his 9 circles of hell in Divine Comedy, Inferno.

This sin, as puny it sounds is the most destructive. The sin that can make wrath look like child’s cry. This sin of betrayal is the one I have met again and again in my life, that is just my beginning in this charade of promises.

Why not Betrayal be a sin? Why should it be the worst? You know one of the things divine to humanity is the power of trust. You trust another human being without peaking into his mind and you make that human a part of your life.

But what if, the gaining of trust is all just an act? What if, it’s the fruit to lure residing in the bush of poison ivy? What if, the person who knows your weakness turns against you in order to fulfill some sort of evil agenda?

You will be shattered, stomped upon, crushed, within a second. You will refuse to believe in humanity, you will reject everyone, you will be an oscillating object oscillating with the thrust of wind. The dreams that you wished to lived will become the rope around your neck tied to the gallows pole and even if you try to move forward the rope will suffocate you slowly. Your smile will become a mask, you will have a broken visage and you will view everything as a mere mirage.

This sin should be the worst of all, Maybe Dante met this sin in his life and knew how hard it is to pluck out the piquer from back.

Thanks for reading.

copyright © Philosophical Pen

Broken heart.

Broken heart, torn apart, in this world of promises,
From lies to stories from agony to glory,
There isn’t a chapter written without glossiness.

There came many in the miserable life of mine,
Few stayed in Sun, few backed me up, few refused to incline,
Without the heart, I was torn part, in this world of promises.

Just in case..
if I die, if your tears recluse and shy.
If your heart as well deny,
To be a witness of the memories we shared,
To jerk off the knot we tied,
To be a wolf in the sheep’s hide,

You should put a stake in your heart,
Come to my funeral without drifting apart,
There will be cake, there will be wine,
I’ll be waiting in the casket of mine.

copyright © Philosophical Pen