Deceit slithers across the vessel

embracing the stench

of the "would-be carcass".

A feast bestowed by

the imminent descent

awaits to serve

the new peasant king,

whose realm

is as torrid

as the desires

that demand

his presence there.



His eternity

now rubbernecks

the obscene art

which subsists

only by gulping

feverishly on

delicious torments

and  mourns

to witness the

silent testimony

of the sullied design

and  preventable death.

Rain that pours down
         From the heaven.
Quenches the thirst of
         Lands that went barren.

Gives a chance
         For new life to sprout.
Takes away the misery
         The awful drought.

It binds together
        The earth and the sky.
Fuels the hopes
        The lakes that went dry.

Answers the prayers
        Of the farmer’s plight.
Feeds the hungry
        Washes away the dark night.

The children
        Rush out for the enchanted show.
Drawn by the smell
        Mesmerized by the seven colored glow.

Muffled strifes of the blanched soul,

Pines for redemption to plug the hole.

The casing remains colorful though,

Mere existence, deceiving puppet show.



Malignant  now  once  benign,

Tragic waste of a grand design.

Delicious torments served each night,

Another day onsets another plight.



Deafening silence, everything torn apart,

Hot tears emerge from the frozen heart.

Quiet scream of the desperate mime,

Mourns the arrival of departure time.



Scythe begins to kiss the shell,

Heaven’s calling or may be hell.

Crimson  red  spills  to  shroud,

Darkest void now dreams out loud.

Encased in a brittle shell

The blood runs awfully cold.

It powers the perishing heart

Once deemed as prized gold.


Scythe slowly etches the frame

Soul no longer can withhold.

The only thought that runs wild

Is the fear of being undersold.

I wander through the sands of time,
Searching for that perfect rhyme.
The one which would set me free,
Comfort me in my hours of wee.
Be my constant, my wisdom tree,
Shield me from the flying debris.


But my search seems to be in vain,
Can’t find anything to ease the pain.
The battle between my heart and brain,
Is taking control, driving me insane.
Don’t know how long, will I last this way,
Can’t find sunshine, not even a ray.


But life goes on and so will I,
I will battle till the storm runs dry.
My body may hurt, the heart may cry,
But I will endure till I reach the sky.
May I fall by the pressure of the rain,
Look out world, for I'll rise again.

Dry are the tears
        that are never shed,
Rolling down in silence
        along the golden thread.


They are the warriors
       whose stories are never told,
Born amidst the torments
        with nothing to hold.


Fighting constantly to hold the mask
        and never to reveal,
The battle to defeat the pain
        and conquer Achilles' heel.


The cries of the heart are masked
        by the eyes that run dry,
Smiling through the emptiness,
        letting only a bit of honesty to pass by.