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Narayan Mar 2013
The piper came again
In this world of pain
The clouds were packing up in the last part of the sky
Turning themselves to dragons, the ostriches left behind
In a race which has no end
From eternity to eternity
As free as a bird
The unicorns, angels, owls n strings of guitar
Everything moving in their own pace
Following the tune of the piper
To a world where there are no boundaries
Where there are no divisons
Where there are no societies
And the trees are friends
The door opens with warm welcome of the sunrise
The dogs of this world don't bark at men
And dragons wait for the ostriches
The forests echo with laughter
And everyone is happy
Here no one is hungry n no one has greed
No sloth, no control, no envy, no judgement
No wrath, no cautiousness, no reasonings, no hypothesis
The strings speak, cry and sing in synchrony
The songs of unity
The songs of fraternity
The songs of spirituality
Here streets are unbaptised
People have no types
And u don't need an identity to prove yourself a human being
Because here, all is one and one is all
Pain is not a word here
If u come with stetho, they'll send u back
No hypocrisy, no pretending
And u can keep ur things at ur places
And everything is in a motion
With the tune of the piper

Now when the trust is broken
The light is split into colours
They race with different speeds
The beats and tunes of the strings turn to mere noises
Unicorns fight to break down their horns, get turned to horses
Who again begin to race
The ostriches get extinct
The dragons fight
And the river of blood flows
The vultures appear
The bacteria begin decaying things
Into gases that poison civilisation
The division begin and people sing their anthems at minutest levels
And the world splits into billion pieces
Everyone trying to increase their territory
Coz they need bigger spaces and they fight for more
But when the two worlds fuse
The freedom is extended
And they call it love
The more they love, the more freedom they experience
They begin a journey
From eternity to eternity...
Family Crash

A family's wreck—its cause is plain,
Kids born of past delights now pay.
That wreck’s their burden, marked by pain—
"Success!" they hear from day to day.



---------------------



Doubt

"To doubt is to show reverence for truth."
—Ernest Renan


The mindless herd repeats, on cue,
A set of phrases, dull and plain.
But doubt can tear their world in two—
Their empty chants would be in vain.

To plant a doubt in such a mass
Is near impossible—why try?
Their world is built on lies, alas,
For truth would make their small minds die.

And should you speak, the blind will fight—
Truth’s fate is bleak in such a land.
But if you never doubt what’s "right",
Then shame on you—you misunderstand.



---------------------



Museum’s Spirit?

Like a crypt…
Walls are cold.
Gallery—
A painter, old,

Blind with rage,
Mind decayed.
Light's not caged—
It's self-conveyed.

Let it shine
Deep inside!
Call the blind:
"Wake with pride!"

Shape the core,
Dare to fight!
Twist the "wrong"—
But keep it right!



---------------------



Fierce Demise

Dissenting minds—but none to think,
"Soul’s deep urges"—soulless cries.
We freeze like systems on the brink,
Drowned in gigabytes of lies.

We fail to grasp, yet pass it down,
So children grow still more unwise.
Forever lost in filth we drown—
False hopes and demons’ thin disguise.

No heart, no mind—this plague has spread,
A few escaped, the rest obey.
We bow with ease, our wills near dead,
Too used to crawling to dismay.

On bended knees, we wait in vain—
What’s left to come? The final breath.
No hymn will reach the wrathful flame—
Armageddon spawns Fierce Death.



---------------------



Toxic "Culture"

"At least bacterial cultures can be seen under a microscope."
—Jadwiga Rutkowska

I stocked up scopes—both micro, stetho,
Telescopes to aid my quest.
I sought for culture—found but echoes
Of lies and filth the germs expressed.

Fake virtues mask a foul regime,
Where fascists play the righteous role.
A second layer—hell’s own scheme,
A lid of brass to cloak it whole.

They'll seal the world—farewell, "refinement"!
I searched in vain, and here it ends.
No foolish bullet brings confinement—
Armageddon kills, my friends.



---------------------



Economic Cattle

Market games—a grand disguise...
How to yoke the herd so nice,
Make it walk into the chain,
Thinking it’s their rightful gain?

Oh, so simple—reshape all,
Craft a world where slaughter stalls
Seem removed (but wars suffice),
Turn the market into vice.

Choice is scarce—so grab the yoke,
Drag your kin to stay afloat.
Step inside the penned-up toil—
Earn your fodder, drown in oil.



---------------------



Sieve

"With most new acquaintances, our first thought is whether they may be of use to us; and if they are not, then for most people, once they realize this, that person becomes nothing."
—Arthur Schopenhauer


I walk—meet nothing on my way,
Then more of nothing—endless rows.
The world’s a sieve, where few can stay,
The rest fell through, lost far below.

Those who could shake this void of spite,
Who saw the roots of all decay,
Were cast aside—denied the right
To live, not use and throw away.

We've learned too well this hollow game,
And so the sieve expands its hole.
Few strings remain, yet all the same,
They, too, will vanish with the whole.



---------------------



Infernal Sumo

The "sumo champs" have seized the ring,
Pushed the rest beyond the line.
Yet the fallen, wavering,
Claim forgiveness—lost in mind.

Fat and shameless, crude and sly,
Rules the ring with pompous glee.
Thinkers? Worthless. Question why?
"Skinny flies" aren’t meant to be.

Circle Nine—or is it lower?
Does it matter? Hard to tell.
Those outside grow weak, sink slower
In the fat ones' lying hell.



---------------------



Diagnosis

Is the world a whining wreck,
Or a doctor telling true?
Drunks and fools—just check the specs—
Three in four. The math is crude.

A simple test, a dumb Cow-ID,
Unmasked the minds—exposed the show.
Even the doctor feels defeated...
The world’s near nothing. Now we know.



---------------------



Hell’s Despair

"This world is the work of some devil who called creatures into being just to savor their torment."
—Arthur Schopenhauer


So bleak, so hollow,
Disgraced from the start.
A wretched creator,
A slave in his heart.

The traitors rise higher,
Deception rules minds,
The blind led by liars,
All twisted in kind.

They fight one another—
Their anguish must flow,
To feed their dark master,
Corrupting below,
Instilling pure fury,
Instilling pure woe.



--- Total 10 poems. ---

— The End —