Beneath the veil of a perfect life,
A beautiful home, three children, a wife,
The hearth was warm, but the fire grew cold,
Yearnings untold in the silence rolled.

A chance encounter, a fleeting stare,
A whisper of something beyond repair.
Not love at first sight, but a seed was sown,
In the quiet corners where dreams are grown.

A life of halves began to unfold,
Guilt wore thin, but the heart stayed bold.
The lies, the longing, the laughter, the ache,
Each stolen moment, a soul to forsake.

Two hearts entwined in a fragile tryst,
The world looked on through a shadowed mist.
The playground whispers, the friendships frayed,
A fortress of secrets they desperately made.

To her, a husband, to him, a wife,
But together they tasted forbidden life.
The children watched, confused and torn,
As families shattered and lives were mourned.

A spit in the face, a punch in the night,
Eyes of the innocent, wide with fright.
The cost of passion, the price of desire,
A burning love from a reckless fire.

Years have passed, and the whispers fade,
But scars remain where choices were made.
The world has moved, but shadows persist,
In the town where the scarlet woman exists.

Would she undo it, the hurt, the pain?
Or would she fall down that hole again?
For love remains, but the question’s there—
Was it worth the weight of the cross she bears?

Enlightenment, they call it
man’s emergence from immaturity,
a self-imposed prison built of cowardice and laziness.
How sweet the yoke of docility,
how warm the embrace of guardians
who feed us thoughts pre-chewed,
who guide us with the steady reins of convenience.

Sapere Aude! they cry.
But courage falters when fear looms large
fear whispered by pastors, tax men, and officers.
Do not argue, they demand,
as if reason were a sin,
as if obedience were salvation.

Books think for us,
pastors believe for us,
physicians eat for us
and we, content in our mechanized stupor,
trade our birthright for comfort.

Rules and formulas,
chains dressed as wisdom,
bind our minds with their silent weight.
The leap to freedom
is an uncertain stumble over ditches
too small to justify our terror.
Yet we cling to the familiar yoke,
fond of our immaturity,
trained to fear the very light
that promises liberation.

Even the guardians,
those architects of complacency,
cannot escape their own machinery.
Prejudice, like a loyal hound,
turns and devours its master.
New chains replace the old,
new dogmas leash the unthinking mass.

But freedom lies not in revolutions,
not in shattered thrones or scattered crowns.
It hides in the fragile flame of reason
the courage to think,
to question,
to speak against the tide of quiet conformity.

The age of enlightenment, they claim.
No, we dwell in its shadow,
its distant echo,
fumbling toward a freedom
we barely dare to imagine.

Our leaders tell us war can be avoided,
but the past says different,
these leaders say wisdom will guide trembling hands, but where was this guidance previously?
hovering over the nuclear switch,
While the weight of our history presses heavy against the future,
a script we've read before,
tattered and frayed at the edges, blood-stained in the middle,
lives lost without pause.

These mighty Empires begin to fall and decline not with dignity,
but with the echoes and shouts of the desperate,
As they clutch at the last fragments of their power,
like broken glass cutting into a trembling fist.
Economies shrink while debt swells, promises empty and hollow,
while banners of "freedom" fray in the winds of the luming chaos.

Rising powers sharpen their teeth and prepare for the feast
on the bones of alliances formed in desperation,
silken agreements now unraveling in the heat
of trade wars and territorial dreams.
China's yellow brick roads stretch far,
binding continents in a golden snare while bridging indifference,
the West stumbles through days,
tripping over yesterday’s triumphs during nights of false comfort.

The war machine prepares while generals dream in algorithms now,
Old minds stepping to shadows as AI thought hums lullabies of control
over drones that dance across the sky,
but who programs caution?
Who codes regret?
A single spark,
miscalculated, misunderstood,
and the sky burns again, shadows and screams burnt into cold cement.

Oceans boil,
not from heat, but fury,
as Arctic ice melts into disputed borders,
and resource wars writhe in the depths.
The future generation drinks bitter water
from a cup cracked by climate's revenge.

Diplomats, hollow-eyed,
speak of "talks" and "sanctions,"
but beneath the table,
hands clutch at guns and knives.
Appeasement tastes of ash
a prelude, not a solution.

History's will say that Peace, is our inheritance, our new right.
what is peace really when it feels cheap and has worn too thin to cover the old scars that have never disappeared,
new wounds that burn.
The drums of this new war beat softly now, unheard in the distance
but still,
they beat when close enough there is unmistakable sound,
a rhythm we cannot unlearn.

And when the final ultimatum falls
in whispered threats and coded commands,
will we still feign surprise,
pretending the play was never rehearsed?

Welcome, dear soul, to the fiery embrace,
Where pleasure and sin find their rightful place.
Forget what you’ve heard, the lies they’ve spread
Hell’s not torment; it’s where life’s truly led.

Lust and desire aren’t vices to shame,
They’re art forms perfected in passion’s flame.
A dance of bodies, a feast of the flesh,
In Hell, these pleasures are always fresh.

Heaven may promise a cloud and a harp,
But its paradise is tepid, stale, and sharp.
No touch, no taste, no thrill of the chase
Just hymns on repeat in a sterile space.

Gluttony’s king in this molten domain,
With endless banquets and wine that won’t wane.
Greed’s not a crime but a game we adore
Dive into gold, there’s always more.

Envy and wrath? They fuel our fun,
Competitive flames under the devil’s sun.
Pride? Oh darling, we’ve mastered the art,
In Hell, self-love is the beating heart.

And let’s not forget our master below,
Lucifer, charming, with a radiant glow.
No ruler of chains, but a host with finesse,
Inviting you in with a wink and a jest.

Meanwhile in Heaven, they whisper and pray,
Clinging to halos that tarnish each day.
What do they do? Does anyone know?
All we’ve heard is “harps” and a dull golden glow.

Angels pretend it’s the place to reside,
But secretly sneak to our wild side.
Gabriel sings at our endless soirees,
While cherubs peek through Hell’s fiery haze.

So step through the gates and leave guilt behind,
In Hell, you’re free to indulge the mind.
Heaven can keep its rigid façade
Down here, we honor the lives you’ve led flawed.

Eternity’s waiting, the flames softly roar,
Welcome to Hell, your new, thrilling decor

Silver rivers stream,
overflow of love’s embrace,
grace spills without end.

Heart's chalice brimming,
nectar sweet as morning dew,
life’s kiss overflow.

Boundless tides arise,
soul’s deep well spills harmony,
love’s cup never still

What do you call the picture of self
My mind played my heart like a violin,
Time ticked by like an old clock’s hymn.
Standing at the edge of reason’s wall,
Where shadows rise and echoes call.

Questions dwell in unspent wells,
Is truth alive, or just the tales we tell?
As our age shapes grows and bends the arc of our frame,
We sketch and outline our self, yet never the same, at times defined while other abstracts
The picture of self oftentimes distracts.

What do you see when you gaze inside your mind, what holds the entirety of your heart in shaken grips girth.
A distant flicker or a star that died? What do you see when you look inside?
Does your quill pierce the foggy shroud, does it write in truth
Or is it lost in the crowding cloud?

Every action carves the soul,
Each stroke defining, yet never whole.
But who are we when the mirror lies,
When the smoke of others dims our skies?

Is your canvas real, or an abstract stain?
Do you wear your chains, or break the frame?
Does your rage hold you caged,
A prisoner of masks, a silent plea
To shatter the cage and set self free.

Society molds with hands unseen,
A puppeteer weaving the in-between.
They sell the self you never chose,
A fragile photograph, a fading pose.

Yet seeking truth is no weak refrain,
It’s the ship that sails through storms of pain.
For every lie the silence sows,
A spark of truth in the darkness grows.

Rationality falters; the heart endures,
Beyond the veil, where the soul matures.
So cast the map you think you know,
And sail where unlit waters flow.