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. 

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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.

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

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 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.

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

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