I was standing there, waiting, wailing, wanting;
Withdrawing myself from this very step,
This steep step to a new journey in this conundrum,
Which is called life.
Was I dead? Was I born?
Did I exist? Did I not?
Were you there?
Weren’t you?
You were there, watching me fall,
When my voice refused to call,
And there was this plain silence,
In my head,
When you whispered…
“Hey, I am here, I am death”
Why is it that the world we live in is so meaningless?
Why is it 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.
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
We need the exuberance of youth,
We dance to the piper’s flute,
We seek what we see,
We do what we preach,
We sow the seeds of hate on our youngs,
We chop off the different tongues,
We teach are kids to be great and brave,
We seek young hands to be enslaved,
We teach our child, that god is one,
We forget the lesson when the war is sung,
All of this is humanity’s creed,
But at the plead,
We want to be freed,
But we will never be able to satiate our greed..
copyright © Philosophical Pen
We are addicted to tell the tale of our misery,
We are so broken that we need magic and mystery,
We need a man by the name of God,
We need to be taught how we got lost,
We need the dreams we need the charade,
We need the the sins and we need to parade,
We need the love and we need the hate,
We refuse to believe that we can be played,
We fight and kill for the sake of peace,
We light candle for our grief,
We need and we want and we desire,
The successful slaves up for hire,
All of this is timely ebb,
But At the edge,
We need to pledge,
We won’t fight for the right path to death
copyright © Philosophical Pen
The Song of Life.
How life goes on and we carry ourselves,
We don’t let others what chapters we have on our shelves,
We fight and fight and fall and fight back again,
We dance to the beat and sing about our pain,
We long for the love that is in every book,
We tell ourselves that we are not crooks,
We don’t do the things we don’t like,
We only know the difference of black and white,
We get tired and we get broken,
We get stomped on and we get thrown,
We might as well be the bravest warriors we know,
We might as well be the sunlight in the snow,
All of this is life that we don’t comprehend
But At the end,
We need a hand,
That will never pretend..
copyright © Philosophical Pen
The night of silence has peaked ajar,
Into the window of my lucid bar,
The ink of dark,
Fell in the park,
When the dogs howled,
And the shadows bowed,
The night of silence peaked inside,
In my scarred mind of prise.
The night of silence has come again,
Tapping at the glass of my window pane,
The shadows she gobbled,
And they don’t squabble,
The stars as audience,
A little bit fraudulent,
They are not peaking inside my mind,
They are just hovering, maybe something they might find.
The night of the silence has purpose she tells,
She’s here on the logic that lovers foretell,
As they mingle in the silence and hide in crowd,
She broods as she is proud,
The lovers that swear to her,
To forseek what she delivers,
They hid in the room out of her reach,
When the night came knocking,
The bride did some flopping,
She hid the night in her heavy pleach.
copyright © Philosophical Pen
I have a saint and a demon inside,
They are always screaming never quite.
Saint tells me to forgive and move on,
The demon push me ahead to fight on.
In a psychological warfare I am involved with,
My soul is being torn bit by bit,
The pain is real but I smile to look alive,
I am broken inside but won’t leave pride,
Saint is always telling me what is the right thing to do,
Do you feel okay? Do you feel fine? Demon argue.
Saint explain to me why everything is Right,
The demon understands me says it’s alright ,
Go hurt those who killed your soul,
It’s not your fault people are asshole,
You can cry all night but what good it will do?
They will break you again teary you like poop,
Seek revenge it will make you feel right,
You can’t just quit it’s your fight!!
Then saint explain, it’s okay cry,
There are many like you don’t be shy,
Tell me What difference will it make,
They hurt, you hurt them but remember what’s at stake,
It’s you soul still appearing bright,
It’s okay my dear give up the fight,
People will still treat me like shit,
Some will miss some will hit,
But I am not a thing to play with,
I wanna come out from this dark pit,
But Maybe they are both Right, may be they are my pal,
I am a human, don’t just scream and yell,
I am not insane humanity is my steeple,
but I am saint and a demon, individually for different for people..
The meditating saint was sitting under the tree,
The saint who was perceived as the mind of free,
Free mind as in the rage was suppressed.
Free mind as in the fate was blessed.
The saint was questioned by kid of age twelve,
Who asked him innocently “what is the meaning of a rebel?”
The saint first smiled and gave him some fruits,
Then he glared in his direction; mute,
“The rebel is a wolf outcast, from its pack,
It seeks revenge for banishment” he said,
“The rebel, what we know, Is a warrior in our eyes,
We refuse to believe the truth and sometimes we deny,
We deny the fact that everyone here is fighting,
We see only fights worthy and enlightening,
We have what we need, we want we out greed,
We have no control over our desire of blasphemy,
We see the world we perceive it as a cage,
When captured in walls a rebel is bound to rage,
In his fit of rage he draws his sword,
Without seeing his enemy he delivers the blow,
When the rebel sees that the head that he slaughtered,
Was not of an enemy but his own daughter,
The rebel cries with the head in his hands,
What was left out that the rebel didn’t understand.
The rebel forgot in his fit of rage,
That he called his own home the demonic cage,
When he was intoxicated by power and lust,
He delivered the blow with full of disgust,
But do you see why the rebel was gone mad?
Why did the world seemed to him gloomy and sad?”
The boy looked up trying to comprehend,
He nodded his head in the notion to pretend,
“The rebel was a fool when he chop off the head,
If he would have been calm, his daughter wouldn’t have been dead.”
The saint smiled at his simple interpretation,
He knew the boy and his dead sister and he was the father in redemption.
Leaning from the heaven life took a glimpse,
With short sight, short reach and numberless blinks.
Viewed the sighted reach, in aspiration it gloat,
With no wings but lots of hope it started to float.
In every light, in every sight, there was love never fight
It adoring, rewarding, blissful first flight.
Chirruping everywhere, no hatred anywhere,
It was so beautiful the world was it’s share.
But then came the night dogs started to bark,
It was unknown and everything was dark.
Life stood quite, didn’t try to fight,
It was everything it feared but bright.
It closed its eyes, fearful and shivered,
Poke the darkness but it didn’t got cleared.
It cried and cried, scream and shout,
Not single soul helped it, darkness did pout.
It manned up itself looked for its fate,
Then they met their eyes, boy! It was a date.
Life looked into death hugged her so tight,
Death just smiled, she was polite.
There was no more running, nothing to be scared,
Life was at peace, it was death which cared.
The love which they shared was beautiful I bet,
Life was a toddler, running to its mother death…
Mohit Rudra Sharma 