you-taking me driving when no one else would
you-letting me talk and telling me I'm understood
you-have a checkered past and so do I
you-making me laugh and making me cry
you-have a voice that makes me love my name
you-I love you but I don't think you feel the same
you-always and forever you

I reached there as a slave.
To the guiding light.
Dazzling for those,
Who lay above the sky.

A desolate route,
Which promised lush fruits,
Whose sweet compelled none.
As the shining light’s call,
echoed through all.

Hoping for some soothing warmth,
Steps were set on changing harm.
Prayed I for trusty terrains,
As I walked with trembling arms.

Scattered with petals,
Were the desolate lands.
Who tempted my boots,
To weigh in one more stand.

Harsh hail, dried my dreams.
Soaking rain, wet my hopes.
Akin to a horse, wearing a visor,
I kept moving, being no wiser.

The guiding lights carved paths,
Compelled it to dream of lush lands.
But the light lost its way and warmth,
Without the dreams of me and harm.

I saw a sliver of light,
Shine through my eyes.
Dried petals,
Hanging from frail lies.

As I felt them,
It gave my throbbing heart,
A solace of warmth.
I at last rested in peace,
lying above, the sky beneath.

Seldom settling souls
Carrying water around
Since greedy surrounds
And are foul.

Peace bought in bottles
Seeking sleep now , hopeless.
Big wallets full of cash
Nothing to feed a dwindling class.

Peace sold in bottles.
For suits buying hotels.
Suits shouldn't be worth
A billion.

Passing through mists ,travelled he deeper into abyss,
Loosing all beliefs ,discovered he the myths.
Situated there the tremendous oak, whose branches laid broke.
Shrouded was every nook, Unbelievable was the look.
To cover the labyrinth, the aim of the oak.

Twenty year old heavenly tree, with no fruit to see.
No bird near it to nap, as it was nothing ,but a trap.
It stood tall with no weight, a husk which gave; no aid.
No shade, no seed, no flower, no feed,
A hollow disingenuous tree, stretching through routes; as it felt free.

‘Never to leave the labyrinth’, was the destiny of the folk.
As beyond the ground, laid a dozen dead folk.
Despised the oak of, the spreading truth.
“Death to doves, who threaten my youth".
Folks believed of changing season,
Hoped men for fruits from the ‘oak of reason’.

Maintained the oak, all they could.
Stacked they chambers, for all they could.
For all they wanted were changing times,
But all they could were changing tiles.

As times changed, and the labyrinth caved.
The new order was played by, plain old slaves.
They called him ‘the oak’, “the protector” they say,
But peel the bark away , and he is rotten as decay.
Crows around, enforced to the ground,
Worked crows for new lords, among new laws.  

So called men of holy faith, nothing but folks of hollow faith.
Protected men, the oak from nesting doves,
Promised men it caused “harming sprouts”,
But it just made nestling doubts.

Flying through labyrinth, away from the abyss.
Losing all beliefs, discovered the dove ‘true’ myths.
Situated there the colossal gate,
Of which locks laid in a destructive state.
Shrouded was every nook, Unbelievable was the look.
To escape the labyrinth, was the aim of the dove.

Akin to a tree with no shade,
A branch with no fruit ,
It stands tall with no weight ,
A husk with no shade .
Promised the men,
"The tree to provide shade,
To those who eat the fruit" .
With only fruits to be imaginary,
Men stand staring ,
Into the empty husk .

If a dove to approach ,
If a dove to question ,the 'fruits',
“The dove to be lit up " ,said the men,
“It harms the tree “, said the men,
" The Luscious tree cannot be fathomed,
As it not be questioned by simple minds " ,said the men.

The simple minded crow,
To pray for its shade .
For no seem found ,For men still stares.
Stares he at the fallen branches ,
Of a tree with no fruits.

An icy cold hand ,
Dragging me through river styx .
He is not one to speak .
But the shadows of me asked,
"Why did I choose to die? "
The echoes crawled through the dead
Never bothered to be answered

When tides change ,
And sides change.
Hero falls prey to a new justice,
And villains change to the new justice.

A genocide of millions,
Is a promise to a billion .
A proof of God's inexistence ,
Becomes a roof of his existence.

Right or wrong - a matter of perspective .
Forgotten are stories, of villains fighting.
Written are histories ,of heroes surviving.
The myths of heroes ,
Were nightmares for villains.

Love to some ,
Turns into hate for others.
They aren't ,the moral right ,
They are just ,the mortal plight.