The god with two faces.

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

Why is 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. 


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.

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

Idiotic child. 

Where did those days went where love was a cookie and fear was a monster.

Where did that time went, homework was easy and naps were funny.

Where one pocket in pants meant we were gonna be rich. 

It didn’t matter if it was dollar or dime. 

Maybe the sun won’t shine again and maybe I won’t be so fine.
Life when was not a puzzle but a pizza with cheese. 

When it was not a debate who is a friend and who is an enemy. 

When games were not so complicated, 

When politics was just a subject. 

Now we rely on the game of politics and have ourselves saved from fine.

Maybe the sun won’t shine again and maybe I won’t be fine. 
Oh it was easy how simple the life was, 

A few chores now and a chores then and that was enough. 

Mom and dad were always there they weren’t sleeping in ground. 

They were there to hold my hand and spin the things around.

Now they smile, now they dance, only in pictures and films. 

Now they won’t come to save my ass from this paradigm. 

Well maybe the world is not cold and maybe I am not ready to fold. 

But the Sun won’t shine and I won’t be fine and life’s gonna be a bitch. 

Teachers, People with many roles.

As we were kids, reckless and free,

We met a clan called teachers,

We were stunned as we looked at them,

We mistook them for preachers.

They held our hands when god wrote our Destiny,

They guided our paths away from blasphemy,

They called us their owns without hesitation,

And they walked with us in the adverse situations,

As we were pots of mud and water,

They crafted us as sons and as daughters,

They became the water when our knowledge ran dry,

They lent us wings to help us fly,

They held the sword to craft our characters,

They became supports to hold our structure,

For us saplings, that the world discarded,

They became gardeners and didn’t leave us unguarded.

This is for those who didn’t ask for returns,

Those who protected us from the futuristic burns,

This for those who evolved us as creatures,

As we bow down before our beloved Teachers. 

The imaginary friends.

In the past I often stumbled upon the meaning of anApology. Is it that I am accepting a defeat? Or am I letting someone’s belief be proven from mine? Or is it simply a senseless social responsibility to function in the world as humans?

As my logical brain had taken most of the decision I went with the third option and I found it be working quite nicely. But that was when I was a kid. For me that time it was another word said to have the relationship intact rather than letting it die in the name of my imaginary friend “ego”.

Little did I knew that my imaginary friend would harness from the hormonal changes and as I hit puberty the imaginary friend hit it as well. Now when it came to apologize I had better excuses and I could just let them see how wrong there were. I often told them why and what I did in order to avoid the labour of my lips mumbling, “I am sorry.”

Now the imaginary friend has an imaginary friend of it’s own, the “isolation”. And “ego” loves “isolation” so much that it cannot function without it. It would often drag me out of social conventions just so the “isolation” could grew as the mentor “ego” saw to it.

Now I have, like most of humans, a childish debate but not the attitude towards apology and I am feeding both of my imaginary friends as they now control me.

– Another human

The Black Bride.

As we often find ourselves to drifting in the shade of night. I find it therapeutic to collect the nightmares and craft them into something soothing. 
I met this lady in one of my nightmares and she refuses to leave me alone, hence I have decided to write this piece as she has visited me and how the first meet happened. 
Windows shriek, the ceiling fell,

Comes the dark knight in the roomy peril, 

A headless beast breathing dark,

Staring from the steed waiting to hark,

Comes the man born from fear,

In his presence life is held dear,

With a swinging sword in one of his hand,

Pushing aside the delirious realm, 

And a shield was meant to be in another, 

But the monster is not here to get together, 

Now he stares as the red mist covers,

My shallow heart now shivers,

As it starts walking to me,

I became stoned in horrible misery, 

The monster asks, “Who are you?”

I couldn’t say a word or two. 

He asks again with more aggression, 

And he spits on my face the dark regression.

No a sight in sight only dark night claims,

My will to live and my throne of shame. 
And comes a lady before he struck the blade,

In the dark gown and a hidden face, 

She says “I am here don’t you worry

Don’t be so gloom, don’t be so weary.

He is my son, one of many,

He is here for the harmony, 

Shivering in the faith; little left in inside, 

I ask her, “are you the infamous black bride?” 

I felt her smile through her veil, 

Then she commanded the monster to flee,

She came near and I saw her skin, 

Darker than night and darker than sins,

Smooth as silk, glistening like stars, 

In the bay of coal like the sparkling char,

She leaned, I felt her skin against mine,

The clocks then shivered and didn’t chime,

She held my face in her hands at last,

I found the misery and joy of my past, 

In her eyes like a show from some play,

I saw myself from the hollow bay,

How I was saint in one of eyes, 

In other, How my sins painted the void,

Her lips then moved and refused to speak,

She plucked my lips and I was still,

I felt the divinity entering my soul,

My soul packed bags and was ready to go,

From limb to limb it collected its belongings,

And waved a hand to the throngings, 

My soul was ready to depart from myself,

And the lady kept it on the top of her shelf. 

My soul asked her, “Have I paid my ridiculous debt?” 

She smiled simply, “Hence your vessel was at the of kiss of death.” 

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.