Backlash

Stuck inside a living nightmare,
where you can barely hear a scream.
Exposed to morbid horrors,
at an age where one should dream.

Ripped where one should ripen,
stripped, bruised and cold.
For a moment of sickening satisfaction,
such obscenities would unfold.

But these stories have been told before,
full of malice and of sin.
Guilt-driven parades are held,
hoping for change to begin.

Nothing ever begins,
while a hundred others meet their end.
Authorities crippled before power,
incapable of making amends.

The culprits roam free,
while trying to quickly shift the blame.
Blinded before evidence,
the voice of justice sealed without shame.

On the pride of our ancestors,
stand men without a spine.
Unable to lift even a stone,
much less oppose this heinous crime.

Someone lost a child,
a mother, a sister, someone dear.
Onlookers only stood in silence,
immobile with unreasonable fear.

Nothing will ever change,
when all we can do is stop and stare.
Primordial atrocities will never cease,
unless we start to truly care.

Tomorrow it could be you,
someone you love or know.
Isn’t safety for everyone,
the kind where one can learn and grow?

But our caretakers are blinded by power,
only lust and money in sight.
If you wish to protect those you love,
you must learn to stand up and fight.

Voices have barely made a difference,
loud enough only to pretend than act.
It’s time to do a lot more,
than sit behind a machine and react.

Absolution

In plastered memories and daydreams,
I traveled into vast endlessness and the brink of sanity.
I saw light bend like mortals before power.
I witnessed the face of Hades in shadows darker than Erebus.

Moving my fingers ever so gently through the fragile ripples of time,
so pleased to be lost in the chaos which made others lose their mind.
With eyes shut, I could see everything so clearly.
I could see through bitter intentions, self-deceit, lies,
the absurdities and anomalies of being human.
Clearly enough to know where they stem from,
what they could do and how to sever them, effectively.

I knew that the parting of the sea was a cheap trick to murder.
I knew that freedom meant jumping from slavery to slavery,
thinking you had control when you are nothing but a subject to chemicals.
The daydreams ended. I woke up. After a million years, I woke up.

Slowly, I grazed the edge of tomorrow,
reveling in its naked beauty and all the petty marvels it held.
I shook hands with the future as it told me my time is near.
I waved at death who disguised itself as tomorrow.

I peeled the skin off my flesh and the flesh off my bones,
tearing all the masks one by one till there was nothing left.
Shedding skin, shedding fears, becoming one,
unlearning, learning and growing towards the end.

Nothing could faze me as I no longer belonged here.
I could sense vibrations as they crawled through my conscience,
resounding, echoing off and destroying every notion I held true.
My walls broke along with me. Absolution was near.

I could hear the songs of the dead,
breathe their memories like fresh air.
Their words made me colder,
their mistakes made me wiser.

Deeper and deeper delving into darkness,
hearing all the pleasures the world had to offer and more.
Surrendering to myself, accepting myself in all its unacceptable glory,
I achieved what most humans can’t even touch.

I am reason. I am logic. I am absolute.
I am life. I am death. I am nothing.
I am love. I am hate. I am passive.
I am time. I am space. I am antimatter.
I am a catalyst. I am change. I am revolution.
I am destruction. I am evolution. I am the end.
I am sound. I am silence. I am disturbance.
I am the third eye. I am beyond the sixth sense. I am God.

Within me I held the power to change,
seasons, time, place, thoughts and everything else that I could touch.
Within me lied infinity, the end of time and countless possibilities.
I embraced the end knowing that my mind is the universe.
The universe is me – ever growing, endless and absolute.

Conscience

The gun was in my hand and it was pointed at the culprit. He shivered and writhed like an earthworm that had been douched with salt, wriggling helplessly on the floor. He had made too many bad decisions. He was snide, boastful, self-centered and self righteous in all his bitter, misguided glory. There was no place in this world for a disgusting, maniacal cretin like him. I was about to pull the trigger when I stopped and thought for a moment. If I do this now, how different am I from him? By judging him and calling him names, how exactly does it separate me from him? What did he do wrong that makes me want to kill him? What did I do right that gives me the privilege of pulling the trigger?

I knew of him since we were 5. We were probably the same age but somehow he seemed much older and wiser, always giving advice, telling me what to do but it was only later I realized that when the time came to act, he was nowhere around. He would disappear like a pigeon in a magician’s cage, leaving me at a loss of words. We would rehearse together but when the time came to speak, he stood in silence, watching me make a fool of myself. He assured me that I was right when everyone around me thought I was wrong. He didn’t give me logic and yet what he said made so much sense. Despite his flaws and what he did to me, we became good friends once we grew older. He was calm, he was confident. He was nothing like me. We were binary opposites and maybe that’s the reason why we got along despite the nature of our friendship.

Now that I think of it, was it really friendship? Were we ever that close? He knew everything about me and I barely knew him at all. He just sprung up one day out of the darkness and his presence grew stronger every day. He became an inseparable entity in my life. He was there when my parents died. He was there with me during the riots when those men were killing each other. If he had not told me to say what I did, we both would have been dead by now. In the loneliness of the orphanage, it wasn’t really bad having him around. Despite the loathing, his presence was somewhat comforting. He became my best friend and my worst enemy. Was that even possible? Once we got out of the orphanage, his voice only seemed to get louder. The lashings were way more brutal than before. He would successful beat me down to a pile of nothing. At the end of the day, I was face down on my bed, bruised with my self-esteem and confidence lost somewhere underneath the scabs of my conscience.

Did I have to take that sort of abuse from anyone? Every time I took this train of thought, he would boastfully remind me of the times he has stood by me. The times he was there when no one else was around. He would talk about how he raised me and helped me. After hearing those words, my inclination to do anything would cease to exist and a moment later he would beat me around for thinking that way, making me feel like it was my fault and I deserved to be hammered like a nail that stuck out. Deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve this and yet I let it happen to me again and again. His words grew fierce, he grew stronger and I drifted further into the sea of helplessness. I couldn’t take it anymore and that’s when I retaliated.

I guess even the strongest of men can be brought down to their knees when a gun is pointed at them. I had taken out all my pent up frustration and now the only thing left to do was pull the trigger. Thinking of all those times we spent together, was it really his fault? He just did the talking and lashing but was it really his fault? It was me. I was responsible for it just as much as he was. I let it continue. I let him do and say those horrible things to me. In the end, it was my fault. So I pointed the gun at the only person who was responsible and pulled the trigger. We both died.

Pandora’s Box

Silence and comfort,
in the deepest part of chaos’ orifice.
I cut my veins with broken glass,
pour the blood on the altar of Erebus.

Drained I collapse like an old pillar,
Hypnos slowly takes my dreams.
Phantasos weaves his illusions,
Phobetor ensures I scream.

Some may call it torture,
but to build, something has to break.
Once the end is in sight,
one must do whatever it may take.

Even if the heavens roll and crumble,
from Atlas’ mighty shoulder.
These deep, dark thoughts must flow like Styx,
eternal and never to wither.

Voices inside my head must echo,
like violent thunder from the house of Zeus.
Lightning must fall from the tip of my tongue,
to either harm or amuse.

Dionysus may raise a cup,
and pour his bounties on this privileged land.
But what purpose does it serve,
when I am a victim of falling sand?

Time may take its toll,
but this cold-blooded quest must ensue.
Hades’ flames cry out,
the screams of the dead are long overdue.

Reality is a nightmare,
this world of horrors feels like home.
Eyes blinded from daylight,
tranquility within this ancient catacomb.

Within these thoughts I am free,
to do or say as I please.
This forbidden land is my Olympus,
I manipulate it with ease.

It may be foolish,
to discard the whole world and throw it aside.
But these illusions must be expressed,
to reveal all the demons I hide.

Funeral

The house is on fire,
there’s nowhere left to run.
Everything is burning,
brighter than the sun.

The shadows can’t reach it,
wild and fierce, the flames are strong.
Clinging on to everything,
dancing to a violent song.

Its rhythm creates patterns,
engulfing everything with a touch.
The inhabitants cornered,
caught in the devil’s clutch.

There is no escape,
all who are trapped are bound to doom.
The mouth of hell opens,
brighter flames begin to bloom.

All must turn to ashes,
till the fire’s hunger has come to cease.
The inferno rises,
flames spread out like disease.

What instigated the fire?
Was it accident or ill intent?
Was it Lucifer’s doing,
or was it heaven sent?

The answer barely mattered,
the corpses were charred darker than night.
The fire’s hunger sated,
it ate everything in sight.

There was no one left to question,
but a lesson they all learned.
If you play with fire,
you’re bound to get burned.

Detour

I stood on the edge of the city,
blinded by hoardings and light.
Walking through the empty streets,
like a silent guardian of the night.

There were screams behind closed doors,
where ‘Happily Married’ the signs read.
Claw marks on the doormat,
the windows were all painted red.

They sold morality on brazened roads,
with palms that had deep holes.
Twisted crosses and hollow idols,
seeking redemption through begging bowls.

Silence was a luxury,
the clubs pumped vibrations on the sidewalk.
The crowd swayed in sync,
late to listen and early to talk.

Their souls were lost in ideals,
of what should and should not be.
With blindfolds thicker than race horses,
the truth their hearts could never see.

Before their flat screen mirages,
the masses often mesmerized.
With hi-tech lies and illusions,
on their insecurities they were pried.

Such was the fate of this city,
bound to destruction and doom.
I turned around and walked away,
to the land where lilies bloom.

Lapse

I fail to remember,
when this journey began.
Can barely recall the first walk,
or the first time I ran.

My feet wore out,
somehow the heart seemed to ache.
Should I even rest,
when there are so many steps to take?

My knees begin to buckle,
does this mean I have to crawl?
Chin on the cold, hard bottom,
is there meaning in struggle at all?

Define a specific purpose,
set all these worldly goals.
If ambition is truly fruitful,
show me how the path unfolds.

My body has been scraped,
trying to make two ends meet.
Comfort is a distant dream,
true happiness I’ve yet to greet.

Each day brings hope,
that is crushed and bound to doom.
Rainbows wither before my eyes,
as the sky slowly falls to gloom.

“Carpe diem,” is what they say,
but that is such a lie.
Barely holding on to an inch of life,
waiting for your turn to die.

A good life is around the corner,
crawl left towards the next bend.
If each day is a new beginning,
I only wish to meet my end.

Hara-Kiri

I take this knife,
and pull it closer to my chest.
Maybe in the afterlife,
I’ll find a place where I can rest.

Nobody gets this pain,
and no one can understand.
It slips through their fingers,
like tiny grains of sand.

I am alone in this vile prison,
that’s dissecting every inch of me.
Cut open and helpless,
yet everyone refuses to see.

These feelings are raw,
intense thoughts that no one can accept.
Crawling on bloodied broken glass,
stomped by the feet of neglect.

Each moment is a struggle,
tainted by suffering and pain.
Breaking the cranium,
swallowing the brain.

There is no escape,
happiness and peace are distant dreams.
A smile to mask turmoil,
to keep it hidden underneath the seams.

Every day is the same,
there’s no running away from yourself.
Nobody to hold your hand,
and no one who can truly help.

“It will get better,”
is something they will all say.
But deep down inside you know,
that death is the only way.

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.

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.