Like the rotating gears of an inner machine,

She changes even by staying in the same spot,

Patiently moving, to the rhythm of her set nature,

Ignoring the outside noises.



Like the loud tolling of a bell,

They sway to the inner strings,

A repeated constant noise to a humdrum existence,

A shiny exterior to a loud existence



Like the pipes that carry fluids,

He sits there and lets all of them pass,

Maintaining an inner path and an outer protection,

A crazy network of rusted metal, inside and outside.


They all sat there with their roles,

Predetermined and within routines,

Arranged to never go in disarray,

Programmed to function and never question.


Some of us do. Some of us realize it and break.

Some of us manage. Some of us sit here and write this.

Some of us, are still stuck in that factory.

Walking down that thin line between truth and false hopes,
You see a reel running on both sides,
Nothing can ever be seen at face value,
Didn't they tell you not to judge a book by its cover?

Where do the wild things disappear?
When they pass a notion to become silent,
You being forever on guard for the next wind about you,
Absorb and relentlessly calm,
The constant waves hitting you, just made you resilient

When in doubt, break the glass and fire at will,
Notions of innocence died when they trampled on you,
The tainted green grass will reflect a ****** battle,
Sounds of silence in the wind only came after a downpour,
But it wasn't rain that poured down,
It was your reign in the shadows,
You said enough, and you took control.
That's all you ever had to do.

You exist in this place that I need,
We seek that solace indeed,
Words that come through do no justice,
For that moment you live through solstice
Lines after lines shape a story,
A tale for which I am sorry,
Symbols linger in the background,
Encoding deep thoughts that I will be bound

Between these lines you feed,
The temple, an icon of your greed,
They parade a ghastly sight tonight,
The torch-bearers of torment in sight,
Their ember light leading the way,
For the confused parade that sways

I dance with the dead,
We pour light in my head,
These eyes close in the heat,
The dead dance near my feet

Between these lines I seek familiarity,
To those words you repeat in similarity,
Anger and sorrow dance in my head,
Doubt they will stand me in good stead

A herd of beast attacks this infernal parade,
Convulsing meat and heat in this charade,
We meet for a brief moment,
Between these lines of torment,
Eyes lock and irises clash,
Arms rise with metal blades,
Horns locked within our barbaric brigades

The dust settles as you walk away,
I crumble with anguish far away,
Mortals lay lifeless on the sands,
The torch-bearers are heard within lands,
Melodies of battle have attracted them,
They come to claim that which belongs to them

This ends the tale of sorrow,
For a better one I will tell tomorrow,
This ends the brief yet illustrious moment,
Where we lived between lines of torment.

I dance with the dead,
We pour light in my head,
These eyes close in the heat,
The dead dance near my feet

He walked down an empty alleyway,

The streets had no name,

He can’t even remember anyway,

Nor does he want to know a name



The roads were decorated with garbage,

Human waste, and humans wasted,

Entrails of a dying age,

None of them ever lasted



Rolling tires and burnt cars,

A bar stood with blinking lights,

This town stands ashamed with scars,

Once an ardent bubble with bright lights



The traffic lights play their own synchronized beat,

With a song that he couldn’t hear,

The brownstone houses crumbled in the heat,

They sang a song he could hear



The town-hall had no living souls,

Everyone had disappeared after the plague,

This is a city with no more roles,

Even the signs are vague



A jolly amusement park with abandoned rides,

Now the clowns lay dead with hollow eyes,

Their smiles still gleaming with pride,

Their mouth whispering out flies



He picked up the pieces,

What he could find in his rotten home,

The door-bell and the number, he shot down to pieces,

The shotgun echoed throughout the dome,



A sign of his departure,

To the next living town,

Whistling, but watchful like a vulture,

Armed and onwards, to the next brown town,



Where the streets have no name,

Where the town has lost its fame,

Where he doesn't know a soul,

But he fills a void in his soul,

When he fills a void in your town,

Know then, to avoid your town,

Your town now goes to sleep,

A slumber that will be forever and deep.

- Vijaya Balan (2014)

Distant hills and fragrant petals,
A dusty path where the homeless call home,
A broken down shack where the strays make home,
This frame couldn’t hold his downfall anymore, he misses home.


Few years back they made a promise,
A lovers knot, a couples’ bond,
To seek forth a new journey, but to remember the time,
To return to the same clock-tower years forth,
Meet by the chime, and exchange their tales,
To return from travels on a lonely broken road,
But nay! No tales of a broken heart!
Each to return at the set time,
Reminding the other, of their time away.


As the sun sets in and yawned away,
And the moon rose up with a slight yellow tint,
The birds flew back home,
As another pair came out to meet,
Gone for months, with new lines to show on their faces,
Gone for years, with new pills to swallow,
Gone for ages, he forgot how sweet her smile was,
Gone with time, she remembered how he lit a fire in her.


They met and talked, talked for hours,
As each hour passed, the bell rang loud and soundly,
The ringing dissonance, the only unrest between this calm unison,
They were never believers in first sight, but they believed in understanding,
Where emotions could trigger the slightest sharp tongue,
Where actions can trigger irreversible consequences,
They understood circumstances and forgiveness,
They understood being close and staying away,
They understood nothing lasts forever,
But until dust consumes them and rust corrodes their gifts,
Even longer will the distance linger, even longer will the affection consume,
Never one without the other,
They held their clock-tower and its maiden bell in honour,
For they never want to forget nor falter,
They want to ring into each others heart,
Where time doesn't measure, but memories do.

That tune brings down walls,
Builds up a tower of dark secrets illuminated by a blazing sunset,
Roads don't diverge but instead converge into one path,
Battling drumbeats inside his head, he marches down a path well known but still different,
That tune tore down inhibitions and built up wonder,
He wandered, and wondered.