Wayward High.

The dark prince of wayward high,

Sinful silence tries to deny,

The world slips through his hand,

Reduced to sell in a newspaper stand,

As he tries to hold the world in his palms,

Knows its to be sold when the time comes,

Knows stories from these pages of time,

From here, sanity is a long climb,

The secrets of royalty,

Trade and taxes ... the swirls of frugality,

Enlightens and awakes the gentry from one-eyed rest,

But a fallen angel he can be called at best,

The ink inspires his dreams once a while,

In a torn and forlorn world, judgement is the thing to trial,

His lack not felt but his presence cant be undone,

Oh some live, some die all under the same Sun,

The knowledge transcends him to the next level,

But knowledge, like the rest, is a lawyer’s haggle,

And all this anguish portrayed through hilarity,

The headlines belong to things that are pretty,

We all know the rawness of life will soon indulge in a spree,

Races will still start at the count of three,

Black and white will get smudged and grey as they cry,

How much the world costs? ... Ask the dark prince of wayward high...

Kraken and Mermaid.

Eyes beneath the tissue of darkness enthroned,

Neither the sun nor the moon but black waters moaned,

Extraneous desires of fortuitous events galore,

Fluorescent monsters and blueberry quarters   in a murky furore,

Beds of sand and tentacles of blithe falls for fool’s gold,

Intemperance of temptation in tears, terribly cold,

Matters of rise, of lavish size, and insanity is the prize,

Cultured probity in the hands of the merciless cries,

Synthetic skin of mystical sin veils the beautiful bride,

 Flights of unfettered soliloquy in treacherous waters glide,

Dawn of desire and the taste of fire in an ominous hue,

Debts of thrill, time’s clumsy wheel for a heart that never felt so true,

Step by my side, walk through the tides, you’ll do just fine,

Worry more for this world where there is no time,

Neurotic for the lost, erotic for her thought, myths of a prodigal mind,

Banal gait, mysterious wait, in dogmas that of fraternity that grind,

Platitudes disguise pure poverty’s ocean dream,

And supersedes the truth in more than one superior scheme,

Reveries of recurrent thoughts of reveries seem,

To be an onerous reputation of a body woven with silky gleam.

The angel song...

Some like others have tried and denied,

I pray for my soul,

The hollow grows louder,

Until the night fakes my face,

It’s a beautiful time

My dirty hands full of cash,

Spends upon my grinning ash,

I tried healing through your pain,

In a weird symphony of fate,

It’s a beautiful day

Blithe did abandon my place,

Turned foetal in disgrace,

And dreamt of this heaven no one seeks,

Lips wrapped, knees screwed to the ground,

It was a beautiful dream

They rustled like leaves below the trees,

Beside his body which looked so glad,

And silence broke all the glass,

Life rolled on moss free,

It was a beautiful road

The puppet still talks

In bars and empty rooms,

Your love and my beliefs

Are lost somewhere in my words and your grief,

Because it’s a...

The Wrong...

I was carrying a white flag down to the ground,

Conch shells and abundant screams emanate from the town,

There were bodies and a multitude of wounds,

Why didn’t I run! The battle was over,

Too late... too sober...

Wrong time.

I was breathing fire in a bright young morning,

A gait so pleasant out of years of training,

To give it all out to the beggar at the foggy corner,

Or buy a birthday present for a friend,

To be forgiven or be God-send,

Wrong decision.

I was sharing stories of my own pages,

Talking like I have never for ages,

But words seem to fade away before he can try to listen,

Silence or penning it down,

All better ways to avoid that frown,

Wrong person.

Sitting idle in a highway bar,

The last peg still didn’t heal my scar,

Should have been home with dreams to sing along,

And here all the clouds that are so stark,

Mock me wild in the dark,

Wrong place.

So,

Heaps of ash and fallen petals,

Piled up in a story of black irony,

That my soul resumes following the same rituals,

To live in laughter that facades the agony,

In a perfectly sane world with nothing to hide,

The predator and prey take the same ride,

And I have seen every bit of the wrong that I am,

Slithering in duties that add to every gram,

The credit rolled before I knew it,

Went to liar who seemed most fit,

Deny, denied,

Can’t deny!

No more can I try...

For all the time, people and places there was nothing I could see,

Funny, this life never belonged to me...  

A Hideous Soap Opera...

The evening sky, her cheeks all red,

Dignified chaos everywhere spread,

Stalks a nightmare in a shadowy dream,

Oh so normal... everything does seem,

Behold! There comes a blinding flash,

There roars the heaven and clouds do clash,

The carnivore night grows and this story unfolds,

Amidst delirious screams and the kiss of cold,

The little girl torn of bliss cries for an angel,

Deuce in the wind... makes her tremble,

 Food is not what she longs for today,

Her father’s chasing death right from the day,

She knows no one to tell her story,

For they are so full of words...  full of sorry,

Who cares for a tear washed in the rain?

Who cares for her happiness when they have their glittering pain,

How beautiful is the rain, smoke and romance,

Lovers afloat... poets in a trance,

Look how it drains all the colours from her face,

All pale and blue, she must be a disgrace,

To search for an ointment, search to revive,

For she was to live and never be alive,

And her father cried in despair, screamed in agony,

Wondered how this child shall bear this mortal tyranny,

The skies try to show mercy when it’s early dawn,

Near a lifeless body she was deserted and forlorn,

Everyone walked so carefree and their habits won’t mend,

For her, the rain won’t stop... the night will never end...