Wasteland II: Setting Sun

The land beyond was unknown,
my journey began when I walked.
New faces came before me,
each step I took was carefully stalked.

“You look so pale,” they said,
“Why are you always dressed in black?”
“Your words spell horror,
is it love that you lack?”

All their concern made me change,
the way I walk, the way I speak.
Once a strong and proud king,
I was reduced to being humble and meek.

I quickly learned their language,
my actions based on what their reaction would be.
Slowly I began to writhe and suffer,
for all my essence was sucked out of me.

I began dressing like them,
and tried to blend in with the crowd.
Silent whispers of wisdom lost,
my words became conceited, brash and loud.

Molded into their culture,
the lies of a lifestyle were too much to take.
Within these petty illusions,
piece by piece my heart would break.

Enough is enough!
I was trapped in this monotonous rat race.
In the bargain of being heard, loved and accepted,
I had forgotten my own face.

The world beyond is truly vicious,
this is where I must draw the line.
Free from the burden of feelings and society,
I must reclaim all that is mine.

I had resented isolation and solitude,
even though they let me be all I could be.
Being alone is better than being lonely and scared,
this truth my mind could clearly see.

With a smile I walked towards the setting sun,
to the deepest, darkest corner of Earth I would go,
and rebuild my kingdom of ice,
a cold, barren wasteland full of snow.

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.

Phobia

She was always with me,
in every thought and every dream.
She came before and after,
always hiding within each scream.

I always felt her,
as I looked down from a hill.
Standing behind me,
crippling my will.

Kicking and crawling,
I would try to abate her.
All efforts were futile,
as she was always near.

She caught me by my nerves,
steadily, she grew like cancer.
“How do I let go?”
Such questions had no answer.

She stood before my freedom,
always pulling me back.
Struggling, I’d succumb,
as she’d remind me of all I lack.

I told her she meant nothing,
yet she refused to go.
Hiding beneath my skin,
and piercing me from below.

While others laughed and joked,
I struggled to climb and walk.
If they knew how I felt,
they’d realize it’s not all talk.

While she grew stronger,
I remained bound and confined.
Not going anywhere,
or else she may return to remind.

I knew she had to go,
after taking away many of my years.
Yet she held on,
the epitome of all my fears.

Shrine II: Ruins

This temple is my treasure,
it is mine to love and keep.
I look after and protect it,
it’s the place where I live and sleep.

My heart lies within it,
it cradles my mind and soul.
I know all its secrets,
from every corner and every hole.

The temple shares its blessings,
by holding and guiding me.
In my darkest hours,
its radiance lets me see.

Within these sacred grounds,
its sanctity must not be fazed.
Those who come to defile,
with extreme prejudice, they must be erased.

But I tend to forget,
everything that I’ve been told.
“This temple belongs to no one,”
it is not mine to hold.

So I watch from a distance,
as vagrants come, loot and take,
all that I hold sacred,
as parts of my soul slowly break.

The temple’s doors are open,
even for the filthy, they never shut.
Its loyal devotee crumbles,
while others desecrate it like a slut.

Void

This void is my temple,
abominable and full of grief.
Twisted and distorted,
where dark secrets come to sleep.

All who enter disappear,
falling one by one.
Vanishing like an illusion,
distant memories they become.

The weak will only wither,
the strong will all be slain.
There are no rights and wrongs,
nothing to lose or gain.

There is only despair,
happiness will end in vain.
Engulfed in isolation,
the silence will drive you insane.

Some may call it hell,
for its burden is really huge.
Some call it home,
where they come to seek refuge.

There is no vision,
no hope or a better day.
Nothing makes sense,
nothing to show you the way.

But it does not matter,
because there’s no one to see.
In the darkest shade of black,
you can be anything you choose to be.

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.