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.

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.

Façade

The void is always within me,
hidden behind this face.
Masked like a vigilante,
with a visage of disgrace.

This mask I must erase,
peel off all this borrowed skin.
Drown in deep, dark waters,
to wash away the scars of my kin.

There is so much sin,
coursing through these hollow veins.
I’ve sold my hopes and dreams,
in exchange for petty gains.

Emptiness aches and pains,
to break out of this lowly shell.
The keepers never listen,
confining it to this earthly hell.

Darkness is a never-ending well,
sacred, full of abundant knowledge.
The surface squanders it,
falling prey to sacrilege.

Silence pushed over the edge,
the sewed mouth must open wide.
Spilling out all the anguish and sorrow,
for they can no longer hide.

No mercy for those who lied,
and built this iron mask of shame,
out of pleasure or ignorance,
even those who gave it a name.

There is no one left to blame,
more than the one who owns it.
Without his shaky, guilty consent,
the mask would have never fit.

Why do I commit,
to something so crude and fake?
Wearing it so proudly,
when it’s something I didn’t make.

So easily it can take,
any absurd illusion as its own.
While the truth slowly withers
along with the righteous voice I disown.

I’ll only reap what I’ve sown,
wearing a mask up to the end.
How long can I lie to myself?
How long can I pretend?

Nothing can mend,
this is the tragic, bitter truth.
I reached for the forbidden apple,
but I can barely digest the fruit.

Deep down to my root,
I know this mask will surely break
and free me from these worldly illusions,
that I so foolishly make.

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.

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.

Nascent

I can’t wait to see your eyes,
and show them things they’ll never forget.
You’ll see things that you love,
and those that you’ll regret.

I can’t wait to hold your hands,
they’ll be so soft and tender.
A warm touch of innocence,
before which all would surrender.

I wish to see your first steps,
following you from the time you crawl.
I’ll always be by your side,
to catch you when you fall.

I wonder what your first words will be,
I wonder how you’ll sound.
Patiently I’ll listen to your voice,
I’ll always be around.

I can’t wait to hear your dreams,
and witness all your choices.
Would you fight your demons,
or succumb to your vices?

I want to hear your heart beat,
I wish to hold you near.
But there was no pounding,
and I was struck with fear.

I wished to do so much,
and so much I wished to say.
But my fate is cursed by demons,
for bitter circumstances took you away.