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

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. 

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

The “would be bride”.

I smile and smile till I can remember,
For the love we shared in our meet.
I still remember that day of December,
When we exchanged hearts in our greet.

I remember your flush, your twinkling eyes,
Those hair of light and the chuckling grace.
When I sit here, when the water turn to ice,
I forgot my own voice but not your face.

I wished, how I wished that we won’t apart,
How we wished to grow old together, in the slowing time.
I learned through time that love is a craft,
I dreamt of how things would have been fine.

I told myself I should devour my pride,
When I let go the hand of my would be bride.

copyright © Philosophical Pen