Havoc

Naïve and careless,
the children play hopscotch on a minefield.
Brainwashed teenagers,
forced to choose weapons to wield.

There is conflict in the air,
morals and virtues must be put on hold,
to make way for grand schemes,
and allow senseless murder to unfold.

Right and wrong are clouded,
the massacre will be labeled as just.
There’s no other way to resolve disputes,
pointless violence is a must.

The world is at war,
bleating sheep run amuck the mud.
Battlefields are sacrificial altars,
the land only craves for more blood.

While the shepherds sit at home,
safely rolling their dice and money.
The sheep hack each other,
their masters barely scrape a knee.

Onlookers proudly wave their flags,
glorifying the senseless bloodshed.
Is it worth being called a martyr,
when your wife and child writhe alone in bed?

The war ends in destruction,
the defeated wear garlands of shame.
Walking away from the carnage,
the victors take none of the blame.

Medals and honors are mounted,
on men who can only stop and stare.
Wondering what this victory means to the families,
who have lost their loved one’s care.

Slide

High above the plains,
in the mountains of milk and honey.
The fiber is smooth,
if you’re willing to throw enough money.

Fine cotton rivals bread and butter,
garments overshadow making ends meet.
Judgment is greater than starvation,
satisfaction for the eyes that greet.

Everything new must come this way,
whether they possess a purpose or not.
As long as it’s smart or shiny,
all that is hyped will be sought.

Before the holes get wider,
the pockets must crash and burn.
Invest in greater comfort and luxury,
splurge more than you earn.

Bigger is definitely better,
and two are better than one.
The mirrors only get shallower,
in the wake of boxes yet to come.

Rags with labels matter,
it is all about glamour and show.
Memorize every sign and symbol,
for their names all the tongues must know.

Consume till you bloat,
and then keep consuming more.
The hunger never ends,
and it is always greater than before.

The big white boards point the way,
follow them through to the latest trend.
Drown in all this material wealth,
petty desires have no end.

The counter is always crowded,
by rampaging victims of a sale.
The roads are thick with loud engines,
and the poisons that they exhale.

The milk and honey may fall short,
for the expensive leather of the feet.
Yet the stomach rumbles,
for exquisite cuisines to eat.

All will perish in the wardrobe gallows,
along with their silken hide.
Unless one harnesses the ability,
to let all that does not matter truly slide.

Metropolis

There is a majestic city,
to the far end of the east.
Where men wear broken halos,
and are governed by the beast.

It has a crimson river,
that flows to the south.
The tributaries carry anthrax,
there is only death at its mouth.

The people live in thick skulls,
looking through its hollow eyes.
Some are cracked and broken,
and some never realize.

Minds glued to rainbow filters,
they walk dragging their feet.
They shake each other’s hands,
but they barely ever meet.

Everyone looks for signals,
in order to move ahead.
Distorted little puppets,
clinging to a fragile thread.

There is no winning or losing,
it all drowns in the city’s light.
Contaminated water washes all the sins,
as dogs sing hymns late at night.

Success belongs to the butchers,
with shops down the polished street.
There’s a sharp knife in their hand,
and fresh blood on their teeth.

But no one wants to succeed,
all want the peace of the peasant.
To sleep in mud and eat flies,
some misconceptions are far from pleasant.

Plastic idols hold the power,
beneath whom all the ignorant fight.
The walls are too thick and broad,
there is no sense of wrong or right.

Let’s go to Gomorrah instead,
or visit the city of Sodom.
There is no substance here,
just intelligence that rises out of boredom.

How do we escape this vile place?
For all who enter must crumble and fall.
In spite of its absurdities and malice,
before the world, the city stands tall.

Peccant

“It’s your fault!”
said the man pointing his finger.
Unable to see his flaws,
letting bitter self-righteousness linger.

He accuses everyone around him,
the index knows no shame.
Held like a gun,
always ready to push the blame.

Pride is up his nose,
the mind only knows bias.
Self-centered and self-assured,
his ignorance keeps him joyous.

Aren’t your mistakes yours alone?
Why should someone else take the blame?
Why point elsewhere,
and ruin another’s name?

If you’ve broken something,
isn’t it your duty to repair.
But you choose to point a finger,
as the other three look at you in despair.

Is it hard to apologize,
and make necessary amends?
Or must you learn the arduous way,
how the spine eventually bends.

Errors happen every day,
some mistakes are inevitable.
Yet you refuse to accept yours,
and hold others accountable.

You point your finger to heaven,
and everything that you view.
Without ever realizing,
the culprit for your failures is you.

Desecration

The priest raised his hands,
before a crowd that submitted.
He held the cross high,
but his heart was inverted.

His voice spoke love,
while masking all his relentless hate.
He sought discrimination,
through the peace he’d propagate.

He’d lift his hands to heaven,
with his feet grounded in hell.
The worshippers followed blindly,
any opposition they would quell.

Claiming to be the voice of God,
he indulged in dirty deeds.
Wearing the façade of holiness,
to plant the devil’s unholy seeds.

With a calm face he abused his power,
satiating all his wicked lust.
Unafraid of the judgement,
he’d receive when he would turn to dust.

By feigning kindness,
he taught the world to discriminate.
Brainwashed, the sheep scattered,
their benevolent priest they wished to emulate.

The demons deep within laughed,
“Look how easy it is to fool mankind.
A smile and a warm gesture,
is enough to turn them blind.

Blind enough to follow,
and blind enough to lead.
Even you fell before us,
because of all your lust and greed.”

The demons then laid dormant,
to claim his soul on the promised day.
Waiting patiently,
to hear the final words he would say.

Purpose

“Mom…”

“What is it?”

“I was wondering… what’s the real purpose of life?” my 8 year old son asked.

“That’s a strange thing to ask this late in the evening, don’t you think?”

“Today I learned at school that everything has a purpose. My teacher said so. But when we were at that shop and those people in rags came by asking for money, the shopkeeper chased them away like they were stray dogs. So I started thinking what their purpose is. Now I’m wondering about mine…” my son said.

“Don’t think too hard, son. As you continue to live and grow, you will find a purpose. Till life reveals your purpose to you, you need to study and gain as much knowledge as possible, okay?”

“Did you find your purpose yet, mom?” he asked innocently.

“I did. The first time I looked in your father’s eyes, I knew what my purpose was. Then you came along. Now I have two people I need to love, nurture and protect. That is my purpose in this life…”

That was the conversation my wife had with my son before a biker rode over him, taking his life. No one can understand the turmoil of having to bury your own child. It’s the kind of predicament that no parent should live to see. Yet, here I was. It felt like my heart was being stabbed repeatedly with a blunt knife. As we watched our son being buried, we held on to each other tightly. We were embracing our loss, trying to fight the tears but our hearts couldn’t contain the pain as tears escaped from our eyes like water from the cracks of a broken pot. Though my son was gone, I was aware that I had to get over my loss and take care of what was left with me. I had to ensure that I was by my wife’s side, especially because she took the complete blame for our son’s death.

“Darling, are you okay?” I asked.

“It’s my fault… if only I had been more careful…” she said as tears rolled down her cheeks which had turned pale due to the immense sorrow she felt.

“It is not your fault. I’ve told you this before, that no one blames you for it. It was an accident. Accidents happen and some things are beyond our control…”

“If only I was more aware… I told him my purpose was to protect him and I let him down. I’m a horrible mother…”

“You are not! I love you! We’ll endure this together. Please don’t blame yourself for it. Things will get better… it will all be okay.”

“I don’t think I can live with myself…”

“Look at me,” I held her warm face soaked in tears in the palm of my hands, “We still have each other and we’ll make it through this, okay? Whatever happens, we still love and have each other…”

She stopped crying and calmed down. She held me close and fell asleep in my arms. I couldn’t bring back what was gone, I wish I could. Our son meant a lot to us. It was a loss we could never recover. We would always feel that emptiness and grief but as long as we held on to each other, I knew we could share our pain and live on. I still had a purpose and that was to take care of my wife. As she rested in my arms, I thought we would be okay.

A week later, she killed herself. She took her life and didn’t even leave a note behind to tell me why. For the first time in my life I felt confused and helpless. The loss of our son was an immense burden and he died before her eyes, as I held her cold body, I could imagine how she must have felt. Maybe I didn’t share enough of the burden with her and it became too much for her to bear. I only wish she had spoken to me before she went through with it. The emptiness within me grew deeper. My entire family and my reason to live were taken away from me. I was left alone. My purpose for living had slipped through my hands like sand at a beach and both the times, there was nothing I could do. I could have easily walked down the same path but every time I took the knife to stab myself, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. What was my wife thinking of when she did it. I couldn’t imagine but it was the bravest thing she had done because I was too scared to take my own life. The memories and the ‘what ifs’ wouldn’t let me. Maybe I just had to redefine my own purpose, my own existence. I had to look for a new one or else this life would make no sense and it would drive me insane.

I slept on my bed for days like a feeble, pathetic being that had lost the will to live. One fine morning, I found the courage to get off the bed. I walked around the house reminiscing as the grief stricken voices in my head kept screaming out of despair. I walked towards the window of my second floor apartment as I sipped on a hot cup of coffee. I used to share this spot with my wife as we reveled in deep conversations about life. As my memories kept piling over, I couldn’t help but notice that a sparrow had built a nest in the bark of a nearby tree. I was sure a female was in there incubating the eggs. As soon as those eggs hatched, they would become parents. I wondered how many of those hatchlings would survive. How did birds or animals feel about the loss of their young ones? Was it the same sense of grief as ours? In spite of my conflicting emotions, I felt a sense of joy knowing there was new life that was going to be ushered into this world. It brought a smile to my face. In that moment, I had forgotten about everything. The thought of new life and finding joy in the happiness of others kept my mind occupied for the entire day. I had to let go of my loss and move on. I had to make happiness my new purpose. I bet even those sparrows must have been happy about becoming parents. I wish there was a way I could speak to them.

Excited to see how they were doing, I followed the same routine every morning and sat by my window with a hot cup of coffee. The male roosted himself by the nest. I couldn’t wait to see the hatchlings. 3 days later, just when I was about to take my usual flight of fancy into a realm that knew only joy and happiness, a cat climbed the tree. Threatened, the male abandoned the nest and flew off. The cat stuck its paws inside the bark, clawed the female out of the nest, bit into her and took her with it. The male who perched himself on a branch a little above the bark was snatched by a hawk. The eggs were left unattended. No doubt another predator would come for them. That was it. The dream of a family was wiped out in an instant. Nature was so cruel. I shut my window and let what I had seen slowly sink in.

This is life. Dreams, goals, ambitions and purpose made no sense. What was the point of planning a family, harboring great dreams and ambitions for them when at any moment, within a split second, your life could be taken away from you. Humans were such fragile creatures. The worst part is that we don’t even see it coming. I bet those sparrows had no clue of what was going to happen to them when they planned on becoming parents. Even I had no clue of what was going to happen. The male was helpless as his mate was killed before him and then he suffered the same fate. It is as if life continuously preys on our feelings, emotions and the entirety of our being till death finally sweeps us off our feet. In that thought, everything became as clear as the morning sun. It was pointless for me to have a purpose because in the end, life’s purpose itself was death. Death was the only concrete reality that existed. We can never be certain about life but we can be certain about death and that one day we are going to die. As I accepted the reality of death, holding the knife became easier. As I embraced the truth about death, I didn’t hesitate while pulling the knife closer to my chest and into my heart. Life had no meaning or purpose but there was meaning in death. We had to live in order to realize the value of death. As the pain surged through my chest and my conscience began to wither, I could hear a couple of sparrows chirping by my window but it didn’t matter anymore… they were going to die anyway.

Spectre

Come, walk into my arms,
step away from that blinding light.
I’ll keep you safe and sound,
in the corners of the alluring night.

This world is plagued by war,
pestilence, violence and greed.
Step into my shadow,
I have everything that you’ll need.

Forget everyone you know,
their pitiful morals are subjective.
Follow me to the end,
I have a cure that is effective.

Come to the bogeyman,
before the voices consume you whole.
Swallow this slimy elixir,
it will revive your heart and soul.

It will make you feel better,
block out all that vicious sound.
Don’t look out of the window,
don’t put your ear to the ground.

Follow these sacred dark rituals,
before the world drives you insane.
Dishonesty, desire, delusions and dismay,
purge everything that brings you pain.

There is no need to worry,
all who knock on the door of Dionysus are free.
Surrender your life and conscience,
reveal all that you truly see.

Consume this divine elixir,
the slime the bogeyman keeps.
Dance with the monsters under your bed,
for they’re the ones who’ll help you sleep.

Cats In The Alley

In the hollow spaces of the city,
where the glitz and glamour could not reside.
Talking corpses wandered,
repetitive hymns they’d all recite.

“Do you have some change,
can you lend me some?
I haven’t eaten for days,
look how weak I’ve become.”

They look into the cold eyes of a stranger,
with all their helplessness and pain.
But the blessed never bother,
the cries for charity end in vain.

Like the stars in heaven,
that don’t care about the naked Earth.
People don’t care for people,
unless your wallet has some worth.

The cats in the polished alley cry,
rummaging through all the city waste.
Hoping to find something attractive,
something that will suit their city taste.

The talking corpses wonder,
“Why can’t they just lend us some?
Look how they squander their riches,
and to bitter vices they succumb.

Our children are starving,
we could surely use the money.
The whole day we struggle for a piece of bread,
while they bathe in milk and honey.

Why is fate cruel to us?
Were we born to crawl and beg?
Must we sleep on the edge of the road,
with dirt to cover our broken leg?”

But the cats in the alley don’t care,
comfortably perched at the top.
High above the filth and sewers,
where the city lights never stop.

Isn’t this the elite code?
For cats seldom love and care.
Demeaning all the broken corpses,
judging them with their phlegmatic stare.

Abase

What does it mean to be humble,
down to earth and kind?
Why is it held in high regard?
Why does its nobility keep one blind?

Is it a divine virtue,
which no one will follow?
Is bowing before another,
such a hard pill to swallow?

Why is it glorified,
in a world that bends before ego?
Is an all-powerful image,
too hard to let go?

So why do we preach humility,
and crush it with despicable pride?
What is the purpose of this virtue,
if no one is willing to abide?

But to think humility is for the weak,
is a thought chained to a fool’s fate.
To exist in a vile world and be humble,
is truly an attribute of the great.