The Bard

He is not what he was
and he laments
he thinks he conforms
yet he dies

He is rigid and lifeless
and he laments
he thinks he knows
yet he denies

He is not what he was
and he laments
he is shackled and bound
yet he abides

He is not what he was
and he laments
his inability to sing
and his relentless demise.

He is not;-
now he attempts to be what he was
but I can tell you
and he will lament the truth.

The lamentation of a labour

The water clears my blood
with murky diseases
into which my mind swims
and confiscates my lethargy

What is with my world of knowledge?
Is it bound by injustice?
Could I survive by hoping
or by external pleading?

There is somewhere I know
a place we all call home
that is a place where
murky waters are for pigs

I dream suffocating dreams
the rough call of silence greet
my wake up to a nightmare
another escapes to a brand new day

What is more important than life?
the bravery of revelation,
now cries freedom,
shackled by one country's religion

Insecure

i am insecure
as mistakable as grey colored stones
i stand alone
now on a lonesome peak
i have conquered half the world
and isolation have me thrilled
i am insecure
and i shall remain so
for i dissect the truth
and lies are all i am left.

I was once long to see a fair maiden

I was once long to see a fair maiden
in she my heart abides
every single minutes are a precious
to check of her constrains

She will sing her lovely duet songs
alone, in her lovely house
every time I glances at her
my heart does a goldfish leap!

I was once long to be with she
when she cries, it is my crisis near
the time when she throw up
yesterday's salad and steak

I was once long seen a fair maiden
in my heart her features impress
she folds my heart into a heart
It looks better that way, she says.

A Song

Has she a summer sun long shield thee?
suns doth concern a higher helm of healing heed
not the silver sparkling half-true accessories
nor the bright burning seas of golden blight neccessary
and forlorn fields of fine false feathers
mourn the cold chilling death of one true whither
a forgotten a nether world knows no greed
for suns doth concern a host of greater needs
not the unwavering union of undulating usurpations
nor the shrill shimmering cry of man-folk's delegations

enlightening eden's best kept beasts and foolish deeds
empowering her wish with enterprising self belief


p/s - i want to do something like the chun sonnet style, but anything beyond the basic is apparently too much for me to handle. Can't seem to make the last two lines tab out.

The Hour

the hour stood but few moving molecules
the feeble footsteps pattering incessantly
the songs whined the notes of ridicules
the machine chattered profusedly

the hour crawled and stood alternately
the feeble footsteps had since left
the heart floundered restlessly
the songs toiled on with lyrics theft-ed

the hour no longer stood but crawled
the lights never flickered as wished
the drones were out and birds chirped
the curling lips' muscles mostly twitched

the hour was about to reach an effing end
the singing stopped before that serene end
the mutterings were long since un-uttered
the hour It stood and died;- It chimed

Random Rushed Ranting

The more I give it a thought sometimes, the more I hesitate.
the more it becomes naturally dispensable and I are forced to
dispose of it. sometimes it is just better to sit back, and hope
everything in life works the same way as how things work in
arcades - where a punch of a button "up there" means A,
and a punch elsewhere means B.

There is nothing better and more enjoyable sometimes to feel
the exhilarating feeling of rushing random posts, when the boss
is firing away at my back, my colleagues typing away, and my
mug is never filled.





And long pauses in between where I need to make a supersonic tab-out
when she comes around to check
and tab-in again

Only the thoughts of the person I love accompany me, hold me
through all the nonsense, and when I finally make it to the end
of the day,

I thank God that tomorrow holds the exact same thing for me.

How lovely is life indeed. I am not even allowed a moment's thought in
typing this
for even if it's just once, they think you are not working.

The keyboard has to sing. My mouth needs not.

And the mug is still not filled. I wonder when will I enjoy
the pleasure of having someone getting Milo for me.

And So He Sings Alone to Her

Tears fall down without meaning

but each of them is deafening

to my own ears

reminds me of our years

It means nothing to say 

anything we had not said

but to actually regret them

sometimes your heart does wrench

Tears fall down without meaning

and each one of them carries 

to each dear memory

which endears her to me

It means a lot to move on

anytime we say we would

but to actually break the fall

sometimes we need to conquer the wall

Seal it with The Kiss or Rip it with A Slit

Each time you carve a line
across the throbbing tenderness
it seems to mark a cross
signifying something lost.

And when you hear them scream
thousands of them all at once
it seems you just wake from a dream
when by the redness the tips gleam.

Each time you try to carve
or dig deep into your hide
it seems you try hard to starve
those whom you faithfully abide.

And when you hear the loudness
and measure the goodness
of their voices
you think no more but of rejoices;-

then Each time you shall peel
away your sadness by the layers
and replace them with misery
when you wrestle with humanity.