The collector went on a self-centered journey today,

Absorbing and extruding all the facts thrown around him,

Baffled by enigma and spiraling decay,

This was a plot building up to unsure moments for him



Tragedies and lost souls in between;

Meeting individuals with chemistry and knowing that acquaintance will be brief,

Studying a bookmark and knowing they marked his life in between;

Wishing they didn't have to go when things were starting to look up with relief



Chance encounters might not be his cup of tea,

He carried Destiny's heavy book, heavier was his sigh,

External pleasantries might be exchanged with the world,

Inside though, a storm brewed with a build-up on perplexing questions



Questions, neither priest nor shaman can answer him,

Questions, neither the dearly loved can answer nor can the dearly departed hear,

Answers, he makes for himself and strings them like a thick rope,

Answers, the rope will tighten its bind on him



He might find some in this lifetime;or never,

Sometimes, the journey to find the things that bewilder him,

Is much more rewarding than finding the answers themselves,

He reminded himself and went to sleep,

He had many more journeys to collect and bookmark.

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)

In idols and in nature,
Without a face and with many,
With an exclusive name or with different variants,
Whether they saw Him or heard and read about Him,
Mankind fails to agree

They will use my name to associate with all that is black and evil,
They will use my name to curse all that is come to be known with an evil eye,
And because of You, they will have strength in their faith to envision a war where they defeat me,
I, who might or might not exist,
I, who can be part of mankind,
I, who was known as the horned one,
I, who supposedly wishes that You will fall down,
Do I even exist ?
Or did they create me to find a scape-goat for themselves?

I, who also am in idols and nature,
With a face and without,
With many names but also with a popular exclusive one,
Whether you have seen me or read about me,
Humans still disagree on whether I influence their decisions,
I wonder who made them do it?

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

Sit by the stairs and wait a while,
Passing strangers offer no smiles,
Pondering on a virtual screen,
Of actions that can't be seen.

Tap that glass and hear its empty screams,
Stay silent and hear the buzzing of flies in your dreams,
You communicate outside your wall without fail ,
Inside though, there are tombstones for every detail,
You cut them off with apathy,
You say you don't want their sympathy

You set forth steps that shift your path,
In dire need for a new destination,
Come tragedy or triumph,
You'll attract them like light to flies,
You wanted it anyway, all the focus,
The light that came, did not brightly shine,
Your shadow remains in its own dark alley,
Some things can never be explained , you run away now.

Go now, go where they don't question anymore,
Go live another cycle.

You sit and write from an ugly place,

A bitter hole with lustful memories,

Sour stench of cigarette smoke permeates the air,

Dim lights scream for attention

Dim, that's what he feels, dim and void



He doesn't know what they want anymore,

He can't speak it out straight and they never wanna' know anyway,

For them, he's just a temporary sit-in,

One that's filling the void,

Void, that's what he feels, void and desolate



She confides as a friend, spills out her guts,

He absorbs and lets out a voice where needed,

Questions come pondering,

They never really see him there more than the role he plays,

And they have wishful dreams of optimism,

Optimism, he never had a full pint



You nod and you acknowledge,

But you never really understand their choices,

You never really know, why they say no,or yes,

Time forgot your conversations and you forgot who to talk to anymore,

All of them seem to be ruptured vessels,

Amidst this sea of chaos



He writes from an ugly place,

A bitter hell with a dancing demon,

He just pleased the inner pleasure,

He retreats into slumber and screams a thousand names,

None will respond, they are all sailing away,

Ruptured vessels with an island to reach.

Raindrops crash on a cloudy evening
Tyres spin on a wet gravel road
The driver is deep in mourning
Avoiding the ***-hole filled road

A dark and damp foul weather
Both outside and inside
His misery was no other
Fueled by the negative inside

Time would change things or him
Neither happened in a solitary cycle
Make believe smiles became him
A downward spiral in a solitary cycle

She came to him one morning
One lonely rainy morning
We got to stop our mourning
Pick it up and get on moving
No positive response ever came
Only a long bleak pause
No mellifluous tones ever came
Only the sound of silence in cause

Pumping sounds of bass hit the head
This time, it’s going to be for real
No one’s going to be dead
But the dead feeling is for real

On a long and lonesome highway
Where the wild things hide,
He’s long gone, off on his way
To seek for the stop signs and himself
Sometimes you got to go away
To find yourself.