"worshipped" poems
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
The engine has built up a full head of steam.
I’d try to stop it, if I knew how.
The fires of industry must burn on somehow;
they tend to burn brightest when fuel is extreme.
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
When currents are surging, we shouldn’t allow
the jingoist fringe to swim in the mainstream.
I’d try to stop them, if I knew how.
Civility means more than I can avow,
but poems can only allude to a theme:
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
Each click of a mouse that shouts holier than thou
is a cog in a treacherous clockmaker’s scheme.
I’d try to stop him, if I knew how.
We worshipped the circuit and forsook the plow
in search of a false technological dream.
Our downward momentum is clear to me now.
I’d try to stop us, if I knew how.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
I hate Science
I hate Technology
Neither Am I Orthodox
Nor I am Fool
I am not a *****
But still I choose to hate
Science and Technology
Both gave us many things
I remember, there was a time
I worshipped both of them
They produced machines for us
They produced robots for us
Machines started building
Homes, Bridges and Flyovers
Machines helped us in
Food and Cloth Production
Milk and Silk Production
And Blah Blah Blah Blah
They made our life easier
They made our life safer
They provided better security
They provided better tools
They made our life longer
They made our life smarter
They gave us rays of hope
They promised much more
They promised more Freedom
They Promised Leisure Time
They promised better Environment
They promised clean Air, Water, Soil
They Promised Harmony and Peace
They Promised Equality for All
Both Science and Technology
Progressed exponentially day by day
But something went wrong
Someone captured them
Hijacked them and misused
By applying their ***** minds
We still have Machines and Robots
We still have Logic and Skills
But where is Freedom and Peace?
Where is the clean Environment?
Where is clean Water, Air and Soil?
Where is the promised Leisure Time?
Now we also have Nuclear Bombs
We have weapons of mass ******
We have smart tools for our Extinction
We have weapons of mass Destructions
Robots are being transformed
From Robots to Human Beings
Humans are being transformed
From Human Beings to Machines
Yes Slavery is back in the Game
Machines have enslaved Humans
Robots have been granted
Citizenship and Civil Rights
Machines have been made ready
Ready to wage war against humans
The question is who is the culprit?
Is it Science and Technology?
No. Not at all. I know this very well
But I still hate Science and Technology
The real culprits are the hungry Capitalists
Who captured, hijacked and misused
Science and the Technology for their greed
Though they have all the things they need
Science and the Technology easily surrendered
and allowed themselves to be used for their greed
This is why I Hate Science and Technology
I also hate Capitalism and Capitalists too
But I have a big question for Myself. I still doubt -
"Can I really live without Science and Technology"
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 8:02 AM UTC
The sunlight winks from behind the umbrella of leaves and mangoes overhead. It tickles your cheekbones like the first, second, thirtieth good morning kiss. Your sandals are worn. A woven basket rests heavy on your hip, in your hands.
Your fingers, slender and worn by the earth, trace the contours of my face the way they search for meaning in a dictionary. Gravity. We inch closer. Have you always had a widow’s peak? Your hand finds it rightful place over my heart. I kiss you for the thirty-first time today. You taste of plantains and milk. You smell of sweat and the sun. My hand relishes in the traces of heat on your cheek.
One mango drops from your possession. Unripe, but soon to be opened up and worshipped as it is meant to be. Your fingers grasp the yellowing heart and press it against my lips. I rest against the trunk and sink my teeth into it. Liquid sunrise trickles down your wrist onto my blouse. The leaves create shadow puppets on the ground, the story of two young fools swaying in the shade of a tree.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 6:32 AM UTC
Everyone wants to be a superhero.
Or a supervillain, in some cases.
Everyone wants to be special,
To defy the norm,
To be loved,
Praised,
Worshipped.
I’m one of the lucky few who got what they wanted.
But here’s the thing about wishes;
There’s always a twist.
A glitch in the code,
A setback,
A call to reality,
To make us pay for our selfish wants.
What’s my power, you ask?
It’s certainly a good one.
And my curse?
It’s a doozy, I’ll tell you that.
I can’t fly,
I can’t communicate with animals,
Can’t breathe under water,
Don’t have super strength,
And I can’t see through steel.
I have the best power of them all.
I can become Invisible
I can easily slip away from anything without being noticed,
I can watch the world unfurl, completely unaffected.
Thing is, I can’t become visible when I want to.
My power chooses its own schedule.
Meaning…
I’m completely alone, 80% of the time.
I can’t make friends,
Because they can’t see me.
I can’t have conversations,
Because no one wants to talk with a ghost.
I get left behind,
Because no one knew I was there in the first place.
I must be strong.
I have to be.
Because no one will be there for me.
No one wants to care.
No one can.
I talk to myself,
Or watch the world like a show,
Craving to be a part of it.
I know it’ll never happen,
But it’s always fun to dream.
Of being loved,
Wanted,
Noticed,
Acknowledged.
Heck, I’d even settle for being hated,
If it only meant that I would get to know what it feels like,
To be looked in the eye.
Have you ever felt the feeling,
Of being looked through?
Like a window,
Or a spirit?
It starts to get to you, ya know?
You start to think about it,
Start to stop seeing yourself as well.
Suddenly, you don’t even exist.
Not to anyone,
Not even yourself.
Oh, yes.
I am so,
Very,
Special
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
I need more intimacy,
Wanna feel someone else's flesh and skin and hairs under my hands
Look into their eyes and know their body trusts me,
Know every single inch of ugly scars and hidden acnea, protruding bones and round stomach,
Wanna kiss, grab, tear apart and let the soft animals we are take over for once,
Worship,
Be worshipped,
Trust and be trusted,
Need to be pinned down like a ragdoll,
Be touched like a craving man i
want it all,
And maybe i do want it
with you.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 6:06 PM UTC
oh darling
it is you who cries too often
and leaves nothing inside herself
it is you who purges
sweat
and blood
and *****
to the gods of self and society
sweat and blood and *****
to void and nothingness
grinning insanity of grief
cries to know and chooses not to
it is pain that you know
and pain that won’t release you
do not forget the heat of what fills your *******
your arms
your genitals
your sweat is burning
your blood is burning
***** burning
it is hell inside
empty your hell to me my love
empty your hot and heavy
loaded words and baggage
neverending flow of **** and ****
neverendingneverending
you are full of fire
and the molten gods of self-sacrifice
refuse to relinquish you
to holy happiness
empty your hell to me my love
I will cool your brow
with lips and hands and water
I will wash you in my love
I will know you with new love
I will fill you with
this serenity
that you can
empty
into
me
cool the fires of fear
and pain and loss and betrayal
with new fires of passion
that are exuberant acts of ecstasy
we are human after all
- only human
and holy holy holy to each other
this is what we are
beings filled with fire
molten images craved
even worshipped
created by gods
to serve as successors
we must stitch ourselves together
and quench this hell with heaven
a reclamation of scars
and scar tissues
we may build our own city
entirely of gold
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 9:24 PM UTC
How can my eyes hunger for tormentors bodies
where in my soul can I find desires for sadists
Eves threw on fitted coats of Marquis de Sade
borrowed his manuals and added even more pages
pierced the heart of a Dove defending his nest with lethal pins
And in joyous indignities with devilment aplomp
they reclined and crackled in wanton doltishness
He thinks of and desires us and wants to make amor with us
How can a heart marinated in love truely sincere
a soul ready to die rather than any harm to Eves
Be mother or sister or perchance even a stranger
alas in utter ********** and grotesque situation dire
Come undone with healthy pristine heart ripped to pieces
hung drawn and quartered and sliced in tiny morsels
Like fish baits for mice and minnows or hens clucking
All at the hands of Sirens who worshipped in Satan's cravens
How can a soul with only the spark of Salvation aglow
where it once housed his heart and enduring humanity
With brimful joy and devotions in fitting measures true
as all Eves where to him nowt but sisters and earth angels
Now his burning blood runs cold like rivelets in the Arctic
their words ring hollow and smiles shows rapiers of snakes
Nothing stirs desires for all Eves now seem and look like wicked corpses
Delilahs' wrecking vengeance on Samsons in wickedness supreme
[email protected] rights reserved
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
She told me
I was young, handsome,tall,
well sculpted and brave,
She worshipped me,
She had blinds over her eyes,
She was not my Aphrodite.
I was not her Adonis,
I fled.
I am lazy,
I am afraid of cockroaches,
I snore a lot,
I love to watch football on T.V,
I sometimes forget to leave the toilet sit up,
In short, I have flaws,
I am human, not a God.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 10:44 AM UTC
My Lips went for a Stroll,
around Her Thighs.
They stopped on hearing,
Her Moans and Her Sighs.
I then began worshipping,
Her sacred Shrine.
Coz the Night, was Young
and My Needle, was at Nine.
I passionately kept tasting,
Her Divine Flavour.
Afterall.....She was My Dish,
which I ought to Savour.
"Take your time".....She said,
as I worshipped Her Thighs.
"Coz there lies your Heaven,
waiting to open up it's Skies."
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC
I tire
Of the perfect:
Of the flawless,
The azure,
The quiet,
The pastoral.
I tire of sunsets
And of flowers
I tire of perfect skin
And perfect lungs
I tire of politeness
And I tire of patience.
I am bored
by golden sunrays,
Reflected brightly
from golden hair
Trailing behind a sundress
Weaving, careless,
through golden wheat.
I no longer want to be her.
I tire of fluffy pillows
And warm blankets.
I am bored of hot tea
And of books about things
That are not real,
Only beautiful figments of the mind,
Only as real as the pages, the cover,
Only as real as we can pretend them to be -
And I am bored of pretending.
I am bored with cities
And with mountains
And with fields
And rivers
And the ocean.
I grow impatient with the trees
And the clouds
And the birds.
I am bored by the beautiful.
Because beautiful is beautiful, so,
But it is only beautiful.
And Beauty, though held fast,
Esteemed above all other qualities
Sought tirelessly
Worshipped and envied
Revered, praised
Beauty is only beauty.
It is not deserved.
It is not earned.
It cannot speak, it cannot give
It cannot love.
Beauty is nothing.
Beauty is boring.
I am bored by beauty.
I do not seek what is beautiful.
I will never be beautiful.
But that is a very small thing
To never be.
I can be far, far more
Than beautiful.
I can be real.
You are real.
And I am real.
And us, we
We are real.
What we are
What we have
Is real.
I am not yet tired
Of you.
And I will never be tired
of us.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 4:14 PM UTC
564
My period had come for Prayer—
No other Art—would do—
My Tactics missed a rudiment—
Creator—Was it you?
God grows above—so those who pray
Horizons—must ascend—
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend—
His House was not—no sign had He—
By Chimney—nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence—
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a Settler—
Were all that I could see—
Infinitude—Had’st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended—
Creation stopped—for Me—
But awed beyond my errand—
I worshipped—did not “pray”—
5.7k
It is a sickness,
That lives amongst,
The focused sky
The curious child,
And the moon illuminated.
It is an endless drone,
That wrenches our stomachs,
Enslaves our neighbours,
And breaks our spirits,
It is worshipped,
Yet will see us forgotten,
A blip on a savanna,
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
You're a flower-child,
spread on the bed with
flowers stuck to your little
head,
with Ginsberg & Whitman on
the shelf & feminine mystique
dripping from the
ceiling.
Moon-lady,
Venus,
tides rising & crushing
the shore,
while I snuggle
my flannel for warmth,
trying
not to be a bore.
Framed pictures as you
reminisce on when we
were younger &
untamed.
"We can still be untamed,
we've been framed
for uninsanity!"
But you call me a fool
& put your
porcelain head in my neck
& I feel foolish.
In the damp light of a cloudy day,
muscles aching, waves
crashing,
uncontrollable urges.
Stranded in the pregnant
belly of a ***** secret city
drawing
the red rose of secret union
& we are sheltered
in the ****** warmth of the
blankets,
cocooned like little monsters.
The calming ocean
& the calming whispers
& the tiny kisses
surround me, blot out my thoughts.
You sing me to
sleep & run little
fingers
through my knotted hair.
Your tiny dollar store
Buddhas belch incense
over
the backdrop of your perfume.
The wind chimes
twinkle & whimper on the
porch where the swingset
rocks in the rain.
"I wish you weren't
engaged but I don't mind
breaking a few taboos."
You laugh like a soft mad fairy
& look down
at your phone & I turn over
on my naked side.
You laugh a funeral
giggle & I know I should have
worshipped you sooner
at the pillow-altar.
Show me Heaven without
death &
the Garden of Earthly Delights
devoid of sin,
show me your sharpened fox
grin &
the way sunset ripples
at your breath,
I will show you sacrifice
& the hidden light
of our lives
in the damp of the night.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
;fear
We felt it, with our hands pressed tightly against our child-chests.
Boom
Boom
Boom.
It sounded nothing like a heartbeat,
But explosions being let off in the distance.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt like sweat and dried ***** caked onto torn pajama pants.
We grew to know the insides of our mouths,
with our soft gums clutched between our teeth -
We learned that our voices were safer kept stowed away there.
We picked at their hands like we picked at our scabs,
Because pulling off healing skin,
felt like pulling off a rooted burn,
And prying off desperate fingers from off our bones,
Meant prying off something that terrified us.
This was our strength;
This was our paralysis.
We felt it, with our ears pushed against the door,
Please
Please
Please
It sounded nothing like a pleading mother
But warm air, creeping through vents with a sudden force.
And it smelt nothing like fear,
It smelt of fresh blood, kissing the lips of a weeping woman.
We worshipped knives like they worshiped our baby-soft skin,
Because cutting open ourselves meant cutting out what they left inside,
And watching the filth flee
down our wrists, down our knees,
Felt like draining water
Out of a clogged tub.
It felt nothing life fear
It smelt nothing like decay
It was a continual clutch of the knife against their throats
This one's for you, daddy
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
.
*asks the one in the $9 Craigslist chair,
legs crossed like a philosopher
mid-way through a YouTube binge
on dark matter
and dopamine fasting.*
He thinks it’s profound.
It’s not.
It’s a shrug in a trench coat.
A crisis dressed up in code.
An old fear wearing digital cologne.
If this is a simulation—
***what the **** are we simulating?***
Heartbreak?
Minimum wage despair?
The number of times I check my phone
hoping it’s her?
Is it
a stress test for gods,
a beta for consciousness,
a joke?
Because if someone coded this—
they should be fired.
Or worshipped.
Or sued.
Where’s the patch notes,
the exit key,
the server room in the sky?
Where’s the moment it glitches
and someone finally says,
“Oops, our bad—
you weren’t meant to feel
all of that.”
You talk about the veil of illusion
but you still cry in parking lots.
You still ghost your therapist.
You still love people
who don’t text back.
You bleed,
you ache,
you spiral—
whether you’re made of atoms
*or ******* pixels.*
Your god wears headphones.
Your sacred text is a Stack Overflow thread.
Your heaven is a loading screen.
Your hell is just
Monday.
You pray in 1080p
to a silent DevOps deity
who hasn’t pushed an update
since the Bronze Age.
This isn’t philosophy.
It’s cosplay for cowards.
It’s a way to sound deep
without touching dirt.
Without risking faith.
Without changing anything.
Because if it’s a sim,
you don’t have to care.
If it’s a sim,
you don’t have to try.
You can just sit there,
scrolling.
Wondering if the fire
is ray-traced.
But here, the only questions that matter:
Does it hurt?
Do you love?
Can you lose?
Because if the answer is yes—
you’re in it.
Whatever it is.
Simulation or not.
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 5:12 AM UTC
People in the Bible worshipped idols time and time again.
They did it even though doing so was a terrible sin.
People once worshipped Baal, it was one of the idols.
People refused to worship God even though it was vital.
When God saw people worshipping idols, it really angered him.
They had to suffer the Lord's wrath when he punished them.
Some of those people's cities were destroyed and some became slaves.
Worshipping idols was a stupid and shameful way for them to behave.
Some people still have idols, one of which is movie stars.
Jehovah God is watching, he knows who these people are.
The Lord is the only one who people should idolize.
If you worship him, it is a decision that is very wise.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:46 PM UTC
Indian Legends.
The Legend of Triambakeshwar
The supreme Lords, Brahma and Vishnu
On that auspicious day were fighting for the highest milestone
For honour
Claiming Wisdom
Voicing out their mighty combat impale
At that very moment, a resplendant pillar
Emerged, took form before them
Standing tall into the skies and stooping low spearing the Earth.
Brahma and Vishnu saw the pillar
As an examiner of infinite Wisdom
They both decided to find either end of the pillar
to prove their supreme position.
Brahma took form of a swan
to find the topmost portion of the pillar
Vishnu turns into a Boar, being the land's wild driller
to discover the bottom part of this pillar.
Brahma returns and lies to Vishnu
"I Have Found My Goal, 'O Vishnu"
Lord Vishnu surrenders with a humble heart
A fruitless effortless failure.
This pillar is no ordinary pillar
The Legend holds it as the sacred Linga
The Lord of Lords, the destroyer of Evil
The three-eyed one, the blue-throated one
Neelakanta,Shiva,Mrida,Rudra
Dayakara,Hara,Maheshwara
The Lord with 1008 titles of honour
Ageless, timeless, formless,
Limitless.
Shiva cursed Brahma that day dusk
**"Your foul deceit smells above this land, Brahmadev
Punishment is a part of crime.
You shall never be worshipped under the stone-carved.
Temples shan't have place for you"**
Brahma, enraged, growled upon the Lord
**"Your greatness shall be pushed into this Earth
Into the same pillar, the Linga!
At the foot of Sahyradri, your abode lies
from now,
till forever comes."**
Dear Fearless Devotee, know this that you must
On the dark midnight of this hand-chosen day
Maha Shivratri
The Holy Linga takes form as the Lingodbhav Moorti
At the blessed land of Triambakeshwara.
From underneath the Earth,
Like a descendant from the skies
The ruler of the seven worlds
Bhu, Bhuvas, Svar, Mahas, Janas, Tapas, Satya
The invincible source of destruction
Of the Seven Hells, Paatala
*Atala, Vitala, Sutala, Rasaataala, Talatala, Mahaatala,
The Patala.*
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 7:21 AM UTC
We kept Whispering Our Desires,
beneath the Sheets of White Satin.
Our Kisses kept pouring
and their Words were in Latin.
Our Feelings, Calmly and Gently,
were moaning in Pleasure.
That's When Our Hands arrived,
at the spot they most Treasured.
With My Lips I went Humming,
around Her precious Spot.
With both Her Hands,
She Worshipped what She Got.
Like an Amorous Knight,
I went riding Her Post.
After Our Sessions ended,
I raised Her, a Champagne Toast.
Sep 13, 2023
Sep 13, 2023 at 7:49 AM UTC
It stopped.
The heartfelt sobbing stopped.
But the pain,
It remained
The regret was raw
I feel you touching me
I feel the tips of your fingers drawing lines
Over my tear filled eyes
You babe,
Were my everything
The sun that burned me
the pain that armed me
the sadness that ruled me
the moon that doomed me
you babe, neglected me
while I worshipped
you
I accepted your harshness
'Cause it closed the distance
Between us
I accepted your demands
Well, at least I get to kiss your hands
I felt sick
Disgusted by my strong one sided emotions
Me, and me
Loving you and your
******* ego
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
We plyed our oars as we sweeped across the surf,
our ships skimming the water with ease,
we seized towns, plundered fishing ports, sacked cities,
we worshipped the great Odin, in his hall in Asgard,
All for what?
We did this, so we might go to Valhalla, the last revelry.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
Running from the thunder
Hiding in the trees
Superstitious people
Your will is hardly free
Casting the unlikeliness
Of a loving killing god
Stolen from the pagans
By a crucifying mob
It's time to wake up
WAKE UP
Worshipped on the mountain
Forsaken down below
Superstitious people
Fearing for their soul
Casting their inventions
Making holy war
Pretending not to notice
The ****** killing floor
It's time to wake up
WAKE UP
TWM
ANOTHER SONG I WROTE
IN MY OLD BAND
HEAVY ALTERNATIVE
Sound like
Godsmack meets tool
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
You! Do you wonder how you changed the Course,
the "Flow of the Weave,"
Across your own Microcosm?
You should know of the Khyber Pass,
and the armies that crossed there over centuries,
Families crushed, ***** forced to change.
And yet, across this violent Cacophony,
Life,
Embryonic,
always endures.
So what to fallen Gods, worshipped by dying generations?
By Assimilation's weak dead grasp,
A page is turned,
A thread is woven,
and a generation,
to pass.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
Our ashes have settled on the cliff of pride
while the seed of today sprouts your frailty beginning.
We have at last seen the face of our god
which you have not even learned to utter
or never will at all.
Your intelligence gave you power that
failed the comprehension of our yesterfathers.
You built humans in just a sprinkle of *****
on to the skin of alligators and ants
on to the stem of a bee and the sting of a plant.
And you called them your sons
And you called them your kind.
The burrowed earths have no more riches
and they are left unpalatable to worms,
no more worms even
for even these decomposers
learn to tire feeding on your greed
no more shades of blue in the putrid waters
to which this bottle was thrown,
to which this letter longed to swim with your same species
that can never be in our family tree
for it has grown dead atop the impotent soil.
How we wished that your sons wished they
were with us in the time when
sparrows roared in the Kamagong tree when
wild boars chirped in the dancing bamboos when
the snow-like smokes breathed in the cone of Mayon when
the bangus and tilapia worshipped the nets of the singing fishermen.
How we wished they wished they knew.
How we wished they wished they saw.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 7:36 AM UTC