Peregrination of Perdition

Down it shall go with a thousand reasons  and they shall be the ones to see it rise,
far on the horizon it shall swim above the forsaken land where they killed their brothers and man,
 the blood in which they bathe , seek absolution in that cursed faith ,
gory shall hold no vice and justice shall be done without a pun

Where it shall be done ,it was then displayed, with what they played, the music of night,
 picked up a fight and it added to the bass, he painted it red and to dogs it was fed ,
where the nights were bleak and he was weary,
witnessed the massacre of dreams, nothing seemed more dreary.

And the skies then turned crimson but it wouldn’t rain in blood,
but it poured and poured its heart out and we swam in that flood,
running down an epileptic road stirring up the spirits of the deep rooted trees,
and their lament mixing with the wind ,acute pungency was the air’s clemency.

Meek and downtrodden becomes of the heroes, the peasant now excels archery,
gives away to savagery ,what mind couldn’t ever see, he participates in such appalled debauchery
laughter of slaughters , slaughters of laughter echoed as music sublime,
yes, this is man , this is mankind and he is in his prime.

Seeks the dawn he when the sun shines upon his head,
trampled lay his brothers while darkness treads,
and chortles  adversity in the run-down corners,
embraces mendaciously the fallen cherubs,
but would still carouse in these lands unholy, the man and his cubs.

Arbitariness and Gibberish

Okay, now its almost been over a month that my pen hasn’t kissed his paper(no, it’s not some kinky metaphor and  for some reason I believe that my pen is a male, it’s not deliberate),pondering over this very critical issue I stumbled upon the fact that my life has entered into a phase of dormancy where I am slowly giving up my urge to rise above all and slowly succumbing to the malignant conventions of the world. On the next thought, “Is it that bad?” , I have been asocial for a while now(not technically) but I have cut most of my physical interactions ( we all have ,all hail social networking  for its services against the mankind )as I wanted to figure out many aspects of lives with epiphanies coming from endless soliloquies, but sadly there were lesser moments of truth than remorse and maybe after spending so much time cramped up in this confined  space I realized that I have been wasting the most precious thing I have in my possession , time but on other thought what could I have done with the aforementioned period of time to save me from the remorse I’m currently facing and also reliving the said period is also impossible, thus the futility of my remorse struck me.

Regret is one of our strongest emotions, and it is regret that teaches us many a valuable lessons in life and maybe makes us more human in the process but as I said the futility of remorse overshadows the handful of good it drops into our barn. There isn’t really any need of iterating the clichéd phrases to back and bring out what I’m really trying to bring out or am I really trying to bring something out, there is no purpose behind this post ,just plain gibberish, a little yammering ,rambling and some other fancy verbs related to talking.
What is it coming to, what are we working towards and does the working really hold some point? I shall write something, a handful of you shall read it, eventually it would get better and maybe someday I would be able to make a noticeable contribution to literature and then I shall become one with the dust, did I actually gain anything, maybe a brevity of recognition and a taste of sub-luxuries of what the present world has to offer. Who would be able to recognize my decomposed corpse from the criminals, rapists, the people labeled as poor, uneducated and others after a dozen months of lying under the ground.  Even my priest wouldn’t guarantee my salvation and even if he does, would I be able to come back as a ghost and kick his ass by haunting him, in case I do not receive eternal life? What is the point of living and craving to survive  in such a world of pointless existence where we earn bread by doing what we usually hate, hate what is hated in mass opinion, and have opinions that reek of desperate and worrisome  cultural aspirations. Would caring about it create a difference? Would creating  that difference be worth an effort? At the end of times , everything, our existence on this dwarf blue planet in the inessential corner of this colossal, colossal  universe might be nothing but plain gibberish.

Liberation

I splashed my face quite a few times ,maybe there was something more than sleep that I wanted to get rid off but water cannot help you wash away despondency to which I was newly acquainted with, it’s  such a strange place to be in where fey things point and laugh at your unusual ways of dealing with the daily facts, unusual ways of finishing chores, unusual ways of being unusually unusual. I found the mirror but the image wouldn’t follow, it points and bursts into mute fits of laughter, I found it quite comical too.

There were earthen chains bounding his feet and his hands were cracked, he had bloodshot eyes and I could see the amount of pain in his mirth, the crackling of chains but I could hear and they made it sound like the saddest music that my ears had ever witnessed. I cried with him until I ran out of tears and  till my eyes were in acute pain and my throat was parched.

I assumed a fault and I asked him the reason, he mouthed that birth was the cause there was no other treason, he knelt and begged to set him free but I realized my helplessness, I was weaker than I ever could be. I just closed my eyes and heard so many voices ,many of foes, many vices but amongst all one was the most firm, it was the call of the morning bird which nests on the tree beside my window, it bellowed the dark away and beckoned me with authority, I followed it and it took me to a pool whose surface jeweled with clarity. I drank to my heart’s content, my throat was no more parched. I looked into the pool and the man returned a smile , he then stood and spread his arms again and I dived.

The Mocking Turd

The point I step out of my humble abode, all I could hear about is people ranting about the social anomalies and the desperate need to find cures, a bunch of wussies, wetting their cunts by politically stimulating foreplay. Is being or posing as an intellectual the “in thing” these days that everyone is hell bent on trying being sensible nowadays or is it  just a part of growing up where we try to tame our primordial instincts by forcing a transition to turn into a subtle and gentle slave of acceptance. I feel like ripping my hair off my skull when I’m between these pansies riding high on their quest to become a condescending douche that could look down upon the other and feel good about himself/herself by showing the other person down.

Gone are the days of discussing each others sexual exploits and amorous adventures in a general meeting of friends, exploits of the latest Operating Systems for their mobile phones are discussed instead, majority of them would just have a superficial knowledge of the subject which they have acquired half-heartedly to be part of the conversation. The fear of being left out and becoming the social pariah has overshadowed our originality

. This is what we have achieved in the name of development and evolution. My heart just breaks to see that how uninviting and cold their hearts have become , we would have never in our wildest of dreams imagined that this would become of us but here we are stabbing each other with words sharper than blades and letting our souls bleed in the process.

Just the other day I visited a very interesting page on Facebook: the purpose of this page was to give people a platform to confess and speak what they could not in the real world without their identities being disclosed ; a very nice concept indeed but people go to such depths to fill the void of their empty lives, the guy who manages the page leaves a note at the end of every confession in an attempt to belittle the confessor and treating himself with an immense high of egoistic assurance that he/she is better than that person and axiomatically has the right to throw a handful of scorn at the poor unprivileged bastard. It’s all fun and games according to this new breed of internet bullies.

That is just one of many unfortunate instances, I have faced many in my days, over lack of intellect, choice of music, not being quick-witted and what not, I guess being the “nice-guy” is not “in” nowadays, you need superficial displays of your abilities to be socially acceptable and if you don’t you’ll surely be bullied and made to eat dirt. The heart of man is becoming colder by the day and it wouldn’t be much time before hell freezes over. ;)

When I saw Music die.

In tales had I heard that, far on horizon,
you can see Music play on a fortunate day.
So I set out to test serendipity and there was he
but Fortune had just finished running her most callous play.

Blood kept oozing out of his gashes,
he was stabbed in scores.
He kept the tune going uninterrupted,
all the pain in the world wouldn’t stammer his chords.

It wasn’t a song about mercy ,
nor about vindication from I could tell.
hands but strumming the strings vigorously,
a song of grim by a minstrel from hell.

On his strings they were running,
an array of free flowing bright red pearls.
may be the abysmal addition made it more enchanting,
meanwhile, wounds expectorate, blood hurls.

Life was but giving up on him, on knees he fell,
the instrument was struck the last time, giving out a loud thud,
“They cut me for worthless paper, music to them is just sound”
with this he closes eyes and goes into eternal sleep
leaving nothing, just but silence to weep.