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.