The sun and the moon
Are still playing their traditional game:
They gamble on a little man
Who is robbed of his name.
Vicious happiness they seek
When they crucify and blame
A new soul that dared to speak.

A Goat fled away from the herd
Not minding the shepherd’s warning.
She wanted to be as free as a bird
And follow for once her longing.

Away in the vast wild she saw
The Fox eating a goat.
Mercilessly, he tore her with his claw
Like a pirate taking over a boat.

Her cries fell on deaf ears,
Her pleas were chocked away.
It wasn’t th’assault of the Fox she fears,
It was beholding another goat astray.

The hiding Goat witnessed the incident.
Perplexed! Afraid! None knows.
Deep inside, she was confident
She wouldn’t receive similar blows.

Suddenly, she heard the Fox singing.
His was a heaven-envoy voice.
In response, all her body was banging
With saying, “I have the choice.”

She listened to the melodies
That she ever longed for.
To her, they’re the paradise
T’which she’s ready to soar.

Recklessly, to herself she said,
“There’s no harm in following him.
Finally, in me something snapped,
Just listening to him is no sin.”

With a lean look the Fox saw her.
He grinned and his eyes widely opened
When watching her trying to blur
Her footprints while hiding so far.

He kept singing and singing
And his looks turned into stares.
The dazzled Goat was incapable of thinking:
“Oh, my lonely heart ‘cause of the song flares.”

The Goat thought, “Following him is fun;
I’m aware of what the reason and the logic say.
If I recoil, my moments of freedom would be gone
And to sorrow I would remain the prey.”

The Fox sensed her inner conflict.
It’s true, he is an expert.
His following song ardently licked
Her poor reason and weary comfort.

His ugly face, she no more saw!
His ferocity was her god,
She wanted before him to bow
Asking him to **** her blood.

His voice was seductive;
His appearance was lean.
She saw in him a fugitive
Who’s all innocent and clean.

It was the carcass of the dead goat
And the blood dropping from his hands
That made her aware that he’d gloat
Over her death while torn with his fangs.

Like the wind, back to the herd she arrived
Bemoaning her lost love and freedom.
She wasn’t grateful that she survived;
She doesn’t belong to the cowards’ kingdom.

He walked with pride as he always does;
Nobody dares to ask him where you go;
Even the lion can’t tell him away buzz;
He’s alone! He has neither a friend nor foe.

It’s He who knows the destination
To which this unyielding creature walks.
His eyes are sparkling with jubilation
As his echoing voice in the vacuum talks.

Today, there won’t be the daily tour;
Th’elephant is heading to the collective tomb
Where after being for long so poor
He will happily wait for his doom.

Among the decayed carcasses he sat;
There were only bones and ivory.
Decay devours the huge and the fat;
Yet, he calmly sat n’ didn’t worry.

Patiently, the elephant tried to breathe;
Angrily he hears his pumping heart.
Now and then, for the angel of death
He looks around. He is impatient to depart!

‘I didn’t know whether my life was long or short!
No matter; it was long and heinous.
This’s where I belong. This’s my resort:
The real sanctuary of the gracious.’

‘With no regrets, I am leaving.
Yes, I’m resolved to leave it all.
This is the time to stop my bleeding
Soul before in the mire I’d again fall.’

‘Huge and fearful wasn’t a privilege;
A mosquito would’ve made me suffer.
My sensitive skin I had to sacrilege
To protect by the stinky mud of the mire.’

‘In my tours, I was always hiding
From the merciless guns of the cruel hunters
Whose greed for my ivory is abiding.
Being big made of me an easy target.’

‘Welcome, my long waited for angel.
No, a second chance isn’t my desire.
I don’t accept’t. . . . Don’t that was a sample!
To the forest, I won’t return. Please, set the fire.

I lived thousand years
waiting for my kingdom to be built.
But I only reaped the tears
I shed while witnessing its destruction
into sand.

Hail the nature
that gives, takes and prevents.
Her rages are the bells
she violently tolls
to remind all
that she owes us thanking.

It has been a nice dream
The way the others have been;
Yet, it also ended with a scream;
It’s the same nightmare I’ve seen.

No rest, no hope, no future;
It’s fearful t’stick to a scheme of repetition
This would soon act as a torturer
That forces the soul to a hideous admonition.

An experience is no more than
A ******* obstinate absurdity
That forcefully obliges us to be its fan
And voluntarily overlook its ambiguity.

As it begins, it would close:
A historicisation of a repetitious monotony.
I will not cry for I’ve got nothing to lose;
I’m just reporting the anatomy.

The innocence in his eyes captured me;
It was something that I couldn’t ignore.
Everything urges me to flee
Before the hot flames make me soar.

Passing the experience is crazy
So is the case if left behind.
Don’t think that discarding it is easy
Because this is the thing that’s rare to find.

He launched an arrow from an expert’s bow
That surpassed its designed destination.
How sharp and quick, yet, so slow
To begin such a mutual infatuation.

Taking the wild ride is impossible!
Do you share me the opinion?
Thinking of it is horrible;
I know, I need another companion.

The history of Salomé and John the Baptist
Is one of the best, and yet, the dirtiest!
Every now and then, it undergoes resurrection
And in each time, Salomé seeks the hermit’s destruction.
Hers is a dance of deliberate temptation
That she mantles with airs of infatuation.
‘Salomé and the Baptist’ is a story of fear and awe,
If you don’t believe me, let’s go!
Here’s Salomé wickedly hooks the bait
In form of a light convincing debate.
‘I’m determined and will decoy
That innocent and shy boy.
‘My last dance will ever be the best
Which repercussions would rock the east and the west.’
‘His head will be soon on the silver tray;
In no time, the boy would be my prey.’
She sneaked to poor John’s cell
Willing to convert his peace to hell;
Not minding that he was praying to God.
‘It’ll comfort me to bathe in his blood.’
The end of the story is known to everyone
But wait! The new version isn’t yet done.
However, there would remain forever a question:
Has Salomé got her desired satisfaction?

Raise your head up,
Then look at your feet;
The captain is sailing up
Towards the pirates’ fleet.
Your place has been booked
With the pirates,
And the captain,
And the dead.
Now raise your head.
No way! You would do it
Whether beheaded
Or lying on your bed.

This is the point from which I begin and end:
The cyclic pilgrimage to the holy shrine.
Good or bad, it is a process that I can’t defend;
I also have not the right terms to define.

Leaving or going, I’m invaded by the same feelings:
Prospecting the unknown and putting an end to the mirage .
Regularity makes the pilgrimages insignificant dealings;
Recurrence is an instrument for exacerbating the sabotage.

This time, however, I stopped for a while,
Is the holy shrine my real destination?
It’s both a sanctuary and exile
And, also, neither pain nor sensation.

Comparisons, confusion and concepts
Assault me before every visit.
Tire, tediousness and toughness
Urge me to accelerate making it.

Repeated patterns end at that shrine
On which step morality and eternity standstill.
It is a solemn spirit and a concubine;
Vague entity but a famous thrill.

From that visit, please, spare me;
I had enough! Release my soul!
Oh, you are afraid to see me free
And capable of evading the whirlpool.

Open the book of shadows
And read what is written.
Behold,
pages are umbra,
others panumbra,
and all end in darkness.
Scared?
Shout as loud as you may
But nobody will hear you.
Angry?
This is the goal,
For which you’re born.  
Thus, pursue it.

Your ears are deaf,
Your eyes are seared,
Your limbs hardly obey you.
Poor you!
Poor you!
Your soul has never been there!

Do you know who you are now?
You are a mere shadow
Of some being in a mirror.
Indeed, you look alike
And have the same moves.
No one may touch the other,
Though you both think that
you’re you are tangible!
Know that you can neither be in contact
Nor separate.
Your gazes will always meet
In the lands of the desperate.
Each one of you
Is ditched in a groove
Where you’re chained
With shadows
and
haunted with unexplained existence.

I am the one
who rules, and punishes, and bestows charity.
Yet, I am still that homeless
Who was violently kicked away
To be deprived of eternity.

I’m happy dear that you have gone;
Losing you is the greatest fun.
Out of my life you should always be;
Your face, I don’t like again to see.
With all your ugliness leave my brain;
In my life you have been a stain.
I’ve never thought leaving you was possible;
Meeting you was truly horrible.
Respect your decision and keep away;
Please, never try to anymore stay.
Expelling you was more than witty;
Keeping you was out of pity.
My patience grew a flimsy shell;
That easily got broken when tenderly fell.
The lesson you capably gave me
Was to easily decide to flee.
Dear, to you I am truly grateful.
The consequences of pity were awful.

One frail life
and thousand deaths
in which
victory was a vice
that stifles breath.
Go ye thither and
sway thy fate
to slate depression
and shrug despair yonder
so as to start
a real risky debate.

Out of the horizon’s den
Here gapes again the two-way road
Where right and wrong converge.
Walking through it is obligatory.
Only the strong
Who dare to pass through it!
Yet, the white-livered may also
Sneak to finish it
Immaculately!
The day and the night,
The sun and the stars
Rise at the same moment.
They appear joining hands
And bold when
Menacing and promising.
Enjoyment is the expected result.
Yet, destruction is the sole reward
In the game of no choices
That ends up by daring voices.

Waking up from her grave feeling a special hunger,
The vampire impatiently pushed away her coffin lid,
‘Today, it’s not only a time for blood,’ she said,
‘It’s one of excessive enjoyment not anger.’

The vampire’s hunger was one for companionship.
After long years of loneliness, she, suddenly, felt lonely.
She is in need of a touch, a caress, a kiss
Or any sign of the bliss of a human relationship.

‘This’s an excellent prey,’ thought the vampire.
‘This man’s blood would satisfy me for years.’
Yet, his innocent looks and lovely smile
Curbed her fangs in and made her ferocity expire.

‘A real companion, I need him, not a prey,
Together we would be the day sunshine.
To him, I won’t be like my first blood sucker
Or the one who betrayed and pushed me away.

She looked at her innocent prey and smiled.
He was captured by her beauty and childish looks.
He cast her with similar capturing looks,
Out of ecstasy they both almost fainted.

Amazed they were of the magnetic attraction.
They kept moving closer and closer,
Their eyes passionately met and hands firmly touched;
They are ready for an anytime crucifixion.

I will not say goodbye,
I would rather shout, “That’s enough”.
My experience with you
Has been super tough.

Just rest away in peace,
You know that I’d never look behind
With you, I was bored to death,
Dear, you have never been kind.

Friendship is a mutual bond,
‘Take and give’ is how it acts;
A silent agreement that’s neither hidden nor written,
Simply, it epitomises all the basic facts.

I still wish you all the best.
But search for somebody else to drain
Her soul and greedily her powers consume.
Keeping you was the worst stain.

Close as I am to lose you,
Happiness is my sole feeling.
Never think to buzz around me again.
At last, I will be a free human being.

Agile as the wind
Fast as a pace
I sat myself in a quietsome place
Flinging hopes like duck and drakes
Who cares
Whether the spring of the flings were violent soul shakes.

Drowning in the pond of despair
My unbroken talents got hit with a theme
Which source was a desperate dream.
Opening herein gates of exploding potentialities,
The flames reached the infinity and banished dualities.

Breathing out and breathing in
Fiends of vehemence relentlessly spin
Away from the firestorms of my creativity;
I told you; I am unbroken.
Failure is a phantom I control with lucidity.

Wells of talents would gush
Over the unyielding and the powerful;
Mires of despair await the unskillful
Who bury their potencies under whining
And impede their innate brilliance
From its designed shining.

Creativity is an acquired gift
That’s coupled with ceaseless action
And outgoes mental and spirit fractures
Hurt? Work.
Crying? Move.
Crippled? Think.
Desperate? Never bend.
Griefs are mandates, failures are not the end;
Believe me, they are as viral as a trend!

Create your happiness in every broken emotion;
Groves of happiness spring out of devotion.
Yet, beware the sloth of satisfaction
It seals agility and creativity with encryption

Like popcorn
The mysteries of days unfold
While the green people still wait
With eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The creaks of the rickety bridges
Of toil and misery
That connect the shimmering peaks of arrival
Have always been a sign
That a fruitful final destination
Is a figment of imagination.
Hope and desire, noticing man’s greed,
Enchant him to step more ahead
Until he realizes that the rickety bridge of toil
Is stretched over a destruction-filled chasm.
Everything is a phantasm.
In the middle of this broil
A devilish playful sound blasters
The swaying bodies of the survivors
Goading them to wake up
And to behold the tormented last seed of popcorn
Forcibly dancing on a hot surface of oppression
Announcing to the fools
That they are crossing the Rubicon.

The torch is passed
The alter is set
The circle is drawn around the cast
Who were reduced to a silhouette.
The scene is pagan,
It suits the coward
Who fancy a gush of goodness
Would spring out of delirium.

Inclinations, insinuations and demonstrations
Are all worthless;
A speck of dust outstrips their sham preciousness.
This is a solid wisdom not a wild guess!
FACTS are the genuine supernatural powers
That build dreams as tall as towers.
Liars’ donations are false reveries and broken promises,
They are the well-known potions of madness.
Sweet ends are in tunnels holding signals
Unlike the liars’ incessant stigmas.

Pits of liars are the evil dens,
That lure the headless dense.
Flee,
Looking back is harmful
So is shrugging at their talk;
Dear, they would never be your folk.
Flee before it is too late,
Believe your instincts;
Their path has ever proved apocalyptic.
If you are that stubborn incorrigible smug
You’ll soon be a victim of a humbug
Whose shoulders would seem the oasis of rest
And would make you believe that you’re the best.