Bazaar with many sounds and comely sight,
Where shops of spice and sweets pull crowds along,
While silk and muslin sold are soft and light.
Where jades and jasper bright on tarps belong!

The cocky kings with their coin purses jiggling,
The merchants seeking ways to coin relieve,
While nimble thieves with fingers lingering,
And beggars begging to next day survive.

Here, nights are hotter than days, if you know
the right ways; wares worth gold in hidden lanes.
The host like ants find ways through sand or snow,
Through great bazaar's knotted and busy veins.

There's nothing you won't find in great bazaar,
Its treasures draw great kings to ****** war.

I write to help me and myself, only
then I will have a little relief, when
It kills me to admit that I'm lonely.
That I am alone, even in heaven.

Where I have everything but people
I love, people who are everything.
My choices and their effect still ripple
This is the jail of my own reckoning

I want chance to relive my life again,
To walk the path that I did not take then,
To take the choice that will help me regain
Their trust, their faith, their love, their very pain

I will set everything right even
if I have to leave my hell and heaven.

The Choir of Judgement is out of sentiment,  
All lies that I told them were deftly sheared.
Underneath threefold stare of vivid Judgement  
The angels, burning yet cold, must be feared.

The Choir Contrition bleeds the blood of ice.
An angel feather owned by Contrition
Used like flensing knife to cut out all lies  
that I told my mirror in deception.

The Choir of Mercy is eternal pain.  
They use flames of worship to scorch my bone,    
So only spirit of the act remains.  
My mortal flaws keep me from going insane.

The Choir Redemption then considered me,
They sensed my anguish and set my soul free.

Blind and afraid, we step into the maze—
Walls of tall cornstalks and glowing pumpkin,
We walk right in the monster's sordid gaze,
A horror town luring us in through our kin.

We were blind to ignore its grim omen,
And now we pay by playing this cruel game,
No plot is untouched in this horror den;  
The town held hostage for an unknown aim.

We're ****** like dolls, like marionettes around.
Are we but actors in this dread story?
Again and again, for the next tale bound—
All of us live, if one hunts the quarry.

We'll survive this mockery of a tale;
Our goal is to game-master's plan derail!

The witch cabal recites in hollow cant;
Septet, under nine stars at witching hour,
Calling Outer Fey for wishes to grant,
Gather underneath the great clock tower!

Beneath centenarian trees, owls croon;
Lightning flashes within the gloom-filled cloud,
Under the warbling choir, the shadows swoon;
Squalls lash against land in symphony loud!

Their syllables they screech like scratching nails;
Capering flames sashay in phantom wind;
And the very world howls with piercing wails,
Rolling in colours to which eyes are blind!

They call forth the Name for blood sacrifice,
Hoping for the ritual to suffice!

Do you discern the boot-prints in the sands,
Or castles constructed by ant-sized hands?
Are vermilion clouds from the sun's last ray,
Or crimson cotton from the dying day?

Are bent and broken stalks just trampled grass,
Or stooped elders waiting wisdom to pass?
Is the rustling just wind weaving through leaves,
Or unseen choirs crooning myriad hymns?

Are waves just battering the sandy shore,
Or armies, drawn by tales of monstrous lore?
Are those just flying dandelion seeds,
Or children fleeing to claim new house deeds?

Is lightning, just nature playing its part,
Or is it merely heaven's misfired dart?
Are missing parts just phases of the moon,
Or was it stolen by some thief in noon?

Tide Tales

I sit at the sea in a tiny boat,
With a fishing rod and in my brown coat,
The tides' tussle hum like siren singers!
Fish-less, bait-less, while the winter lingers.

The seagulls watching from sky, chuckling-
While even sea foam giggles, bubbling,
Is the sea as green as my seasick face?
I check if my hands look cold blue, in case.

I would even welcome a shark right now,
Even pirates will get a hearty bow!
Yet all I get is the sea's salty spray,
Sea spitting raspberries, joining the fray.

Sighing, I start packing my fishing rod,
But, stop as it somehow catches a cod!
It thrashes in attack at rod half packed,
And under the waves my sole rod gets dragged.

"You think that would stop me!" I shake my fist,
"Oh! When will you learn?" the waves crash and twist.
Next day I return with a weighted net,
Bringing fishes back home, my goal is set.

From today's dark grey sky, the seagulls hide,
Minding it not, I throw the net star-side.
I see the rope-less net just as it falls,
Powerless, as the net sinks to sea halls.

I oar back home, having lost our wager,
By now plotting of new ways to badger.
Huffing, puffing, I heave the heavy oars,
To enjoy my rest ere oncoming wars.

A sudden tailwind pushes me shoreward,
And the helpful waves urge my oars onward.
I think I have won a new friend today—
Delight, like having an early birthday.

Now I know it is not kind nor unkind,
The sea's not to such mortal traps confined,
For such an ancient thing it's like a child,
Now and then serene, but oftentimes wild.

We continue for years thirty and one,
A score of wagers lost; a dozen won.
Until I am too frail to row again,
And so, on shore I feel my friend's tear stain.