Pens and Pages

Where does the serpentine road lead? To the hill's top and beyond. A tiny hut resides at the end of the road, The road ends where people do not go. There rests in peace my muse and love Within a coffin made of soil and leaves. Sometimes, she sits atop the mountains people do not see, Touching the clouds, she smiles in glee. And when the wars will end and birds will sing. She will turn the serpentine road around, For a new world to lead.

I bleed blue, I bleed it all out; A single gun-shot, And a deep wound. Like a broken ferry on a vast, vast sea; I tremble, I shiver, Drenched in the cold memories. They still know your name; They ask where are you. For I was you then- Complete, Unsullied. For they still are there In the old battlefield, Fighting another war. I've changed; I've been soiled. I've bled all hues; I've seen it all. My sore wound rots; I await no war. Sullied, Smeared, I collapse, I shiver. Broken and twisted - I am you now.

My brave warrior, Thou art no Lazarus. Thou will not resurrect. Thou dig thy own grave. Thou cannot bequeath Thy slayings to the soil. The soil shall not bury Thy charred soul. Eden waits not for thou. Thy scars won't go; They won't leave, They won't heal. Wear them as a curse. Wear them as a curse Till thy corpse rot. Thy soul shall suffer While the blood-stained Weeds will shout, "Wear it as a curse, Wear it as a curse!"

Of outbursts and outcries of myths and lies in that gentle veil of silence the love so pure, dies The heart wails and it bleeds for all it couldn't get and all it needs And he's punished he's torn for all that is red for all he had worn  There were wounds there were scars and he was tied behind the bars Oh, there was laughter and there was cure there was lunacy and there was lure There was lust on top of hatred's pile there were the unfulfilled desires and a wicked smile Oh, there was freedom there was salvation but he knew it cannot die not his own creation On the path of oblivion lied his grave, treacherous and so he awaited, unaware of the fate precarious...

The lust for bloodshed, Cries and wails. Broken domes, Victory and fame, Orphaned children, Widowed women, Corpses and crippled soldiers, Defeat and shame. Athena helped connive While Ares watched lain As Keres bore on her rummage for the slain. Dragons flew over Breathing out the hot fire Horses ran in menace While the ruthless warriors Kept slaying sans penance. A realm is now demolished Another expanded A king’s head is chopped off another smiles with triumph With pride he looks At the lives lost While he prepares For his kingdom Of unwilling acolytes Frigid women dismayed orphans and an empty throne..  Read more at Taj Mahal Review Dec. 2012 Issue