Broken

Lying like a used pile of clothes,

In a corner of the rusted-bicycle floor,

She huddles.

She lies folded like a moth-eaten frock,

Like a twisted and broken toy-clock,

So brittle.

Her little hands, fisted tight,

Her little eyes, a little too bright,

She cries.

Unshed tears, that offer no solace,

Pitying arms with their choking embrace,

She is victimized.

They have slowly poisoned parts of her soul,

They have taken away the parts of her whole,

But she lives.

She has a woman’s eyes,

And the body of a child,

That she gives.

They ask of her, her child’s world,

Want to touch and corrupt her fragile mould,

She is numb.

They have violated her rights,

And she has given up the fight,

She succumbs.

Like the moth-eaten frock,

Like the broken toy clock,

With her woman’s eyes,

And the body of a child.

Horror Child

Don’t cry, My chemical child,
Don’t hide in the dead wild.
You are the shadow,
Of these ephemeral meadows.
You are the doom divide

When the exhumed smoke,
With it’s macabre hoax,
And dying trembles,
Burrow in the city of shambles,
With chemical breath and chemical fears,
Of chemical death and chemical tears.
You will bury those dear.

These hands of waste that hold,
Have damned many a living untold.
With silent pyres of chemical flesh
Drenched with the stink of a living mesh
Burning , a fiery green-gold.

My Horror child,
You will age like the crumbling sky,
Like a cesspool hinter gone by,
With Apocalypse, a headstone,
On the grave of a chemical earth undone.

So cry not, my chemical child
For death that has not died
In a an effort of morbid vain
For you are the tremulous future’s grave
You are the Horror Child

Lovers

When lovers were collected
Like marbles of green envy,
They were churned to be concocted
Into a potion of morbid frenzy
Filled with colours of the rain, sky and fire
They glowed in the pagan cauldron of desire
They made love like symphonies of creation
And worshipped each other with abandon
But the fate witches cursed their birth
And used agony to meausure their worth
They were tempted with apples of blood
And thrown into puddles of mud
Off ravines and into jungles,
Drowned in seas, locked in dungeons,
Where the blood curdled
And the apples rotted away
The lovers then huddled
And started to pray
To turn into stars of crossing
Or into poems, and legends
And not tragedies of mere passing
Like deaths with nameless ends..
They became the song of the siren
The caressing breeze
They turned into the melancholy butterflies
And the serenity of peace
They beacame the entwined ivys of leafy mirth
And rain-showers
They became the white wood earth.
They became the energy of univerese
Never to be destroyed
They became the sanctity verse
At par with the world yet allied.

Black Ice

The nocturnal nest loomed,
Like a lead banket over the stillness,
The diamond stars glittered.
They turned lead into ice…
Black Ice…
An obsidian field of liquid,
Quiet and dark,
Flowed, rose and ebbed.
In its invisible ocean,
Of molten darkness,
It grows restless,
Then dim, but existing.
It crumbles within itself,
Deep within it oblivious pits,
Nothingness-so grave & full,
That it nullifies all else,
Lives Black Ice.
So opaque.
Unrelenting, spreading,
Glittering lead diamonds,
Of the night,
Of the sky,
Of the stars.

Mortal God

If God did acid, what would i say,
If he was a pot-head, in the throes of decay,
If he liked weed and poppy seeds,
And loved his daily doze of hash brownies,
If he saw the world in neon smoke,
If he loved Jimmy hendrix as much as his coke,
If he saw his songs in technicolour,
If he was the world’s greatest lover,
If God loved to Dance to psychedelic tunes,
If he liked in his hair, sunflower blooms,
What kind of a God would that be?
He’d be a mortal God.
He’d be my Dev D.

His Her

he loved the juniper smell of Her hair in my own
he loved the bee stung rosiness of Her pout on my mouth
he loved the obsidian depths of Her eyes in my charcoal ones.
he loved the music of Her brezee-song voice when i spoke
he loved the way i kissed him with Her love
he loved the sweetness of Her bitter tears when I cried
he loved on him, Her vanilla-night scent that i left
he loved Her innocent kaledieoscope dreams that i shared with him.
he love the purity of Her heart and body that i gave him.
he loved me for Her and not for me.
She was the girl he fell in love with
The Girl I am not
The Girl i can no longer be
though he remembers me as Her
She’s just an illusionary memory
Now he thinks he’s found Her hiding place
hiding under the skin and bones of a new face
he thinks She’s his beautiful secret
but she’ll be just another shadow of his Her
she’ll be the elm tree that bends under the ghost of his Girl

Fading

If I faded away like a human coloured mask
If I din’t know love and never knew how to ask,
Would u hold my hand even when i’m not there,
Would u search for my pieces under the grimy layer,
Of foggy memories and yellow skin,
Of empty rooms and silver tins,
Of corner shadows and scraped out benches,
Of hollowed eyes and knee skinning trenches,
Maybe u’ll find me in some old letter,
With dog-eared corners that look brittle,
U’ll see my eyes from the wooden keyholes,
And hear my songs echo in mundane chores,
I’ll be a footprint on ur concrete shell,
I’ll be a haunting glimpse where the living dwell.

Prayer

A prayer i said,

A prayed i prayed.

A prayer for the living,

A prayer for the dead.

I say it to my God,

Benevolent and divine.

He lives in no temple,

He dwells in no shrine.

he is but a glimpse,

Of energy so pure

A manifestation of hymns,

That my heart in pain bore.

I say to him,

Please heal my fellow beings.

When their hope burns dim

When sorrow burns their wings.

When death is upon their door

They must grieve no more.

For they will be cradled,

By the divine fabled.

Should I

Happy, happy, happy

That’s what you think I am

And yes I am happy

As happy as a sacrificial lamb

I wish I could dance, dance, dance

And soar the skies

But life’s not always passion,

So I can’t be a butterfly

I’m pained and confused

But i’m defiant still

I’m sad and angry

But i’ve got my will

I’m not guilty of crimes

But I’m not the innocent one

I know i’m not perfect

But i’m game for some fun.

It’s not wrong to be imperfect

But i want to be good.

I’m haunted and caught

Between a shouldn’t or a should.

My heart is filled

With tears of sorrow

But my eyes don’t brim

For fear of morrow.

Am i free to break,

To fall and bend?

I know i can reach there,

If my ways i mend.

I’m here existing,

But disturbed is my thought.

I’m caught in two minds,

Should I or should I not!

Undead City………

Leaving behind a closing trail of my essence…..
a jagged little stream through a sea of people……….
I tread on the cement pathways……
a concrete jungle awaited my embarce…….
as i walked into the lair of an undead city……
undead because it’s animate with borrowed life…..
undead because it thrives on the sacrifice of dreams, love, innocence……
it’s hypnotic in it’s ceaseless, sleepless nights………
in it’s ruthless, rusted, dusty days…
with a lead veil of filth that covers it’s formless face….
the blood, dirt, and sweat…..mix with the defeat……
as another wish surrenders to fate and destiny……
a silent pain…….that mingles with the crease of a void smile
everyday i see my human kinsmen fight a battle with an invisible storm…..
it’s inevitable…and invincible…all engulfing and yet….
with hollow valour they fight it………
still, i laud their vacant dreams, hopes and long forgone innocence……..
for atleast they cling to their supposed humanity with a false semblence of reality……