The “A#* hole”

There, is a hated borderline, you see?
At the frontier you’d never want to be….

Don’t scream how despicable is me…

For spoken truth, that, seems my only fee…
Why is an “a#*hole” all it takes, to tell

The truth? Whole, to one’s face, well?

Why does one risk that Providence,

In place of silent “friend”, at one’s expense?
Why, what you fear, that you’ll hear,

That might end your friendship dear

Just has to be presented by enemy…

So that you’ll lose no one in me?
Don’t be hostile to that “a#*hole”,

For he’s to play a major role,

Blurting, with no thought and no regret,

The ugly truth turned you upset…


The Tension of Reminiscence…

“At tensed note, you me do hear…
The lines I stroke are feebly real
But life is surely- sure, my dear!

We bravely cry, her heart’s- a heal,
All other times we choose to fear!
We do decide what we do feel!”

The Road

” I saw a courtyard, cavalier,
A flimsy household, burnt despair…
Still tinsy flames, a shaky pier,
Still enter it the brave one dare…

I wised en route, a decrepit man,
“Worth of life perceive no youth can…”

The Market

Not clay, but stone- fat man’s abode,
All passers- by, their mouth’s broad
A blacken shadow strikes a cheek
“There be a duel! “- crowd’s a meek

“Enough! “- at passers’ stall I snap my bread,
With agony, my eyes shall not be fed”

The Wasteland

Miragy, shaky dot, at far horizon
It shivers closer, is that a bison?
Dead and bony, stumping, crossed liaison…
A cross and pike, stuck, chest, war’s son…

“I kill the wish to end it’s pain
I kill the fire and sleep in vain…”

The Bonfire

A stilted, silent, devil’s whore
But she can’t see her kids no more…
A lusty flamelet leaving first sore…
From shrieking crowd- “Torture her, more!”

“”Mumma- Mumma!” Eyes wet, them follow
I turn and stand, heart dipped in sorrow…”

The Woods

The darkest thicket, a daunting stare, stinge some foul…
An eerie swamp, a cryptic flare, a glaciating howl…
All, but none around the pyre, all, but one- hides in the cowl…
“Who is that?”- one dares to ask. “Solitude”- is heard a scowl.

“There, behind “seclusion”, hides a fading man…
Despondency is what it turned into, on that long a span”

The House

An early morning, drapes alfight, birds all tweet…
At portico, beauty for sight, glissades a damsel sweet…
“Where’s your corset, you lousy wench!”- is all the heat,
A High estate, a rich demesne, yet filth off street…

“All this society, all those trends- a despot o’er heads…
Trailing those, loosing friends, knit we all dystopian threads!”

The School

A flock of kids, in field they play, mirth a bunch!
Around something they are gay, natures gift?- a hunch?
Closer, laughter, there’s a deafish boy, gets a kick, a punch…
His name is Ludwig, and he shan’t leave a crunch!

“All have stories, paths, habitude to greatness…
Some suffer, some don’t, yet all reach in lateness!”

The Lake

He ran his eyes- stars seemed to hover,

“Life’s been concise”, he does uncover,

“I’m still in joy, I’m still tired of lies

Reality’s Troy- green bellied fireflies…”

“The man’s just right, in his built up illusion.

Blind us the truths, sight, with confusion!”

The Pub

“I fill the bowl, then tap the dottle…
Meanwhile others- down the bottle…”
He opens stashed up, tobacco leaves…
“Minds’ out resort, senses take heaves…”

“I’d puff for grayish soul and ring for misty mind,
All kinds love a kind, that’s the truth of the mankind”

***This piece is unfinished, so keep updated, periodically)

Contrasting Hues

There’s something doggish in every cat…
Something wintery in someone’s summer…
Some eat thin while slaying with all their fat…
Why where’s attempt there’s a fraction of a bummer?
Where’s that sun in every lunar eclipse?
Why are the demons so Godly for the common man?
What, to submit to Higher, do people do with whips?
In every pit of a furnace there’s a door with fan…

How can that beating warm beacon of the lost,

Pierce through some souls with such a chilling frost?

How is it possible to have burning water?
There’s helplessness before every power…
There’s sometimes a lot of money in every quarter…
Unfair is when a man can’t tear down a tower
But a Simian Flu can take down whole humanity?
Fiction contains an entertaining element of insanity…

Flickering moments

Do you know how tough is it sometimes to evade those eyes?
Ghosts in the crowd of souls- when we become as cold as ice?
In a flooded with light ground, when all is left is a shadow patch
And our souls bled victims to an untimely mismatch
Leaving us funneled down our paths, flowing through that breeze
As blood tries to while hitting the whitened walls en course…

Do you know how strange is breeze when we flow by
Through thick, with our eyes deliberate, so high,
Yet so familiar… Reminding of the past, not so passed away
Voices are in close vicinity, yet nothing’s there to say
There’s something, some aura in the void space between us,
Yet both of us kept on floating away as we freeze…

Romancing the Jewel

There’s one belief- one can’t deny
That angels fly, high in the sky.

And people say, they’re humans, just with wings,

I’d say- just birds, those worldly things.

But one can’t fool, when world’s aware

And try such thing- one wouldn’t dare.

We sit on bench, I contemplate

This ginormous emerald’s fate.

The cold, fresh air that thou inhale,

Comes from the green on city’s pale.

Thou’ll have to sit here- judge it’s size

I wish, I could lend thee my eyes

For either way thou’ll dissolve in bliss

But it gets better if thou don’t miss

How brook trails down into the lake

Canopy’s spearheads tremble and shake

Amongst the chaos of greenish shades

Hiding the sky, those leafy blades

And butterflies- burst, fly, explode

Trail deeper, cease tracing the road!

Enough of resting- we’ll return

Let this sea thy feelings churn

And like mood, let’s trek up hills

Along, collecting angel’s quills

They float on breeze, brushing thy lips

As thou take rest on rocky tips

And gaze at former spanning the sun

The green waves underneath will stun

Thee the more thou look, the more thou feel

Thine empty heart it’ll beg not, steal

And keep it in the dark abyss

Of one deep lake- thou cannot miss

As thou’ve sat on that one bench

Right before I gave thee a wrench

And made thee walk through green so strong

It flushed away all that feels wrong.

In Rains- umbrella-cap mushrooms,

Empty vast spaces, empty rooms,

And what not else that thou might see

Whilst over the edge of well gaze we

I bet, thou’ll remember that jolly place

Where bunnies jump around and race,

And mother goose with gooselings round

Away from monkey, walks around

And pups, those pups in paw and prance,

Play with thee well in awkward dance

And all those fishes in a wishing pit

Swim around, whilst their nurturers sit.

Arachnids, colourful insects and dragons,

Antelope trails- trekking bandwagons,

Lush green breath of city-odd freshness

Hitting like nature’s creative madness!

Climb up the tower, horizon scan,

And hills and lakes then see you can,

And suddenly right straight ahead

Angels descend- rightly said

Thence through the woods, a trail to follow

Rushing thee under that tree and a few hollow

Just right before they flutter and wail

And forget a feather from their tail.

And all those adventures blood thy pump

For thou have to crawl, climb and jump

To make through all of the miniscule joys

And get to the show for Big boys:

World’s cut in half by pink sunset,

Crickety aura then in gets set.

And wall of darkness sets on place

And lost thou art as if in space,

But look a sparkly matrix blooms up ahead,

It rains to sky through trees from bed

And when one dot towards you flies,

A myriad of fireflies- you realise!

We sit in silence, absorb the vibe

There’s no need for me to describe

Mellow senses, mellow mood, mellow us all in one

As long as we have Sanjay Van…

Love Nature

An elegant curve of the path

With shades all around…

A pair of Arabesque hills

As they turn into the plotted math

Of scattered ponds on the ground…

And a few of memorable stills

Turning it’s whole beige core into wrath

Of multilateral picture- green all abound…

And ending at a pair of strings of matrix nils

Exploding into a flowy, shrill- shivery brown path

And stars exploding all around…

With all trees behind rising up like hills.

Contemplating about the hidden treasure

The Boom Impending

Something different is in this air…
This air is ethereal…

This air is eternal…

This air is yours Oh Earth…

Tell me whether it is real…

Tell me even if it’s carnal…

Tell me even if in dearth…

Drop at me like autumn rain…

Drop at me that heavy news…

Drop at me how Environment is climbing for the noose…

Sweep away my worldly pain…

Sweep away my subtle cruise…

Sweep away all worldly men, who dareth you to loose…

Like fish in the sea

The awestruck fish was stuck in a tree
Thumbing it was, trembling, to get free…

Life twirled and turned it like a darn hurricane

Only to leave in hardship and vain…
Fishy fidgeted a few tiny leaps ahead

Then it realised that it just fell from bed…

But how felt the dream, you can’t fathom, just see…

The man turned- fish felt like one fish in the sea…

The One on Strength & Perseverance

When people ask me:- “Are you strong?”

I point, that their question’s wrong,

I say:- “It’s not just really all the strength,

That helps survive you to this length.

But how, this length, you do perceive

Through all the friction you recieve.”
When people tell me:- “Wrong, you might be!”

I flail them, “That depends on how you see.”

They preach how strength and even power

Is grown with friendly people’s shower

Of their goodwill and blessings; “That’s thin”

I say and add, “This first comes from within…”
They scream and shout, “How dare you!?”

Of egoism, in this debate, they me do sue.

“A little scared they’re, ‘s what I think

To face their sins and cross that brink,

Confess of evil thoughts lurking their mind

And speak of how they fight ’em for mankind”
Each day, each night, each dusk, each dawn,

Pitch black heed grows our mind upon.

We strive, we fence, we burn, we fight,

With morals, ethics, brought up might

And frown when fellow strikes amiss

And finds oneself in dungeon bliss
He is not strong, not strong at all,

For him his friendly people took the fall

And now all they all do is just repent

On how ugly scary was his dissent,

And how they had in this no hand

And this was only his failure grand!
The lonely bastard’s hit hard by wall

How people standing by him tall

Now vanish, never to be seen,

While once lost mind, is never clean,

And there he sits in stone cold cell,

With all well-wishers, lest wish well.
He sees now, that this sin his- grave,

If only once he were that brave,

To shut them out, stay solo- soul,

And let his wicked thoughts to crawl

And face them straight with no advice

From friendly people- witless’ demise.
Then maybe, maybe he’d have seen

That strength he seeks is there within

 And darkness shunt away, aside,

That right came with no one beside.

For no one’s wicked born with head,

But it grows unto them instead.
But what is done, is done and stains,

And now he’s left to endure the pains

Of heavy chains and morbid thoughts,

With none, but hope of grimly sorts

That perseverance’s all what’s left

Now, lonesome burden for him to heft.
He might not live to tell his tale,

But this- a thing one must not fail,

To seek and find within that good

Which makes one strong or so it should

At least to judge oneself permit

Where people rise, where fall in pit.

The Search

Something highly relatable for each of us at one point or the other in our life…

Maybe it is the search for the ultimate purpose or maybe it’s just all about a pizza…

One might never know…
What if whatever you just fail to find…

Is hiding right there in plain sight…

But you’re one clumsy kind of blind…

You just can’t find it in this light???
What if you search for that in place…

That’s just not right, for it to hide…

And it’s damn staring at your face…

Lost, have you sight- eyes open wide???
What if that thing has no disguise…

But you’re searching masquerade…

Still here- seeking, post it’s demise,

Shortsighted, dwelling in crusade???
What if all this effort blown to skies,

Mirage made into​ the fair of Vanity

Is moulding real all those lies

And dripping on our sanity?
What if you’re searching​ for the meaning

Yet can’t find a pivot point- full life- like..

And think of these as words demeaning…

Bedazzled, but still void in thy psych?

A possible preface

I realised myself to be the righteous apostle of the record book keeping when I was sitting by the fire and listening to the two bards ranting to the crowd about how right their independent versions were and realised that the version my own father told, was rather entirely different. I trusted my father, because the old time scar was ogling at me from his collarbone​ each time I was addressing him. I was a relative pacifist and let the former both, keep their argument burning up. Very soon I found myself peeking up the porch of the monastery from day to day and eventually the prefect archivist pulled me up and invited me to learn reading and writing. And I’m glad that I wasn’t born a lady or believe me in our kingdom, at our times- it’s rare they’re getting any chance to get out of their “lady” activities like games of croquet, ball dancing, designer gardening and other art, sewing- basically enjoying their lives and do as their wild wishes tell.

Since then into my youth I spent days and nigths reading and rereading the archives and records of this and even number of other churches. When I couldn’t find more, my father didn’t approve of me going away for too far, because I was just 14 back then and didn’t perfect my bow and arrows skills enough to embark on such a journey alone. He didn’t have enough faith driving him to accompany me on my undertaking, I walked into a library. It seemed as if a heaven touched my rusty robes, made me unaware of any sort of unease including them and embraced me with it’s open arms absorbing me into an abysmal depths of historical and fictional texts and smells. That is when I realised that writing and preferably the truth were the two most important things in the world of my perception.

By the time I turned 16 and by the same time- the already Grand Archivist, came down to bless me personally from the Great Church of Uptown, while I was initiating something unbelievably surreal and important with my volunteering to serve in the defence tower operating the turrets of the guards of our kingdom- Pacifia. It was a relatively sought after position within the hierarchy of the armed forces of our then king Le Mustachie III and it was all thanks to Grand Archivist who recommended me over a crust of bread. It was less hectic a service than that of the foot soldiers and less glorified than the cavalry, but meant a lot of travel and sitting which were just perfect for my soulful orientation.

Days started flying by and my duty shuffled me among the towers, towns, crossroads all across the lands… By 22 I read every book in the cities that my towers guarded and started writing down the records of my own and tallying them with those of the old man Grand Archivist to see, whether I kept everything up to date. Archibald Hansen, was his name and he loved to talk of the beastly lady fish like demons at sea. He appreciated my work but over the years of my absence I knew that he grew closer to his other apprentice Le Brix who was a son of an utterly wealthy nobleman who had a speck of devotion on the silver laden suit of his pompousness. He and the mistress managed to pass him that devotion before they met a terrible end by the hands of an unknown woods’ gang who robbed them off everything and their lives. He unfortunately witnessed all that and ran away with the Circus only to be recovered by our Grand Archie almost a decade later. Pretty easily convinced he learnt fast and by the time I ran out of books to read in our kingdom and started my own private archive keeping, he was already doing the same, but devotedly and had no problems with arranging the parchment​ or papyrus to waste. I on the other hand had to struggle through harbors and traders to scavenge the few I could afford.

It was all fine for a while, but pretty soon my fellow guards started utterly despising my erudition and consequently exiled me mentally from their acquaintance. I, very soon, noticed how fat I got reading all those piles of books and munching down our garrison food stocks and pretty much accepted others’ sedition towards this fact. In almost no time I started to get neglected and even sooner I was reassigned my position.

It seemed that they somehow got an approximate idea about my efforts and acknowledged the reference Grand Archie gave for me to the Marshal himself recommending my talents while conditioning Le Brix to follow in his holy steps of Church Archiving. I didn’t mind, rather got self- content from the fact that I might proudly keep records of the king’s army and experience the live action of every step they took. These were another few years before my career within the army abruptly got finished as Dissipati Peribunt, being the Marshal, lost his head to a better gentleman Bon Tu Pati somewhere around the tent I was scribbling in. The same day Le Mustachie the III and his nobility with the help of Prince Meinland the I’s cavalry, managed to crank their heads a wee bit way off their shoulders. The whole family, or what was left of it was brought out in their own bedsheets and sent to a respectful cremation by the edge pf the river. The times were noble and so were our neighbours.
Once again my writing​ prevailed and after reading the glorified records of the truth behind the unfortunate governing turmoil which uprooted the basics of the kingdom the new king himself declared to decide my fate. Archie and Brix didn’t get any sort of such judgement and my papa was parried away from all this unease by the holy angels of death. I’ve never told you about my mother, because from all I heard she wasn’t much of a story to tell about.

By the stories of papa she was an untimely smart lady from a humble family of a laundryman. She was courted briefly, but vigorously by him when he served with his life for her then employee- Count Un Fukwitablu and his nobility. It was around that time that my father experienced first hand the story those bards were lamenting about. In short the house fell poisoned and all of the commoners were dismissed of their posts. Following a series of useless months, old man got himself a ring and got her under the blessings of the cross. They miscarried my elder brother, but papa got a hire and was able to afford a healer and a roof over their head on outskirts of the capital. In a couple of years of relatively dull, but as per his words- turbulently romantic married existence they tried again. This time with even more care and support from local healers and two midwives my father unknowingly enjoyed her company for healthy nine months. He held her trembling hand when I saw them both for the first time together and cried knowing this will be the last, because an angel told me before they pulled me out. “The labor was tough…” was what they said while trying to explain the obvious.

I was tossed to our pious neighbour aunt Martha whom I’ve never met thereafter, but I’ve heard that she was in conveniently lactating at that time and didn’t mind another suckling offspring at her spare voluptuous tit. The last part was emphasised by papa every time he gratefully mentioned her and honestly, I thought the word explained something about volume till I came of age. Ever since, I always wondered, if there was something going on back then during my infant days. Papa subdued to grief a couple of years later and almost sold me to a Chinese trader once while he was dead drunk. Coming to senses he took an oath to upbring me right and did so in the house of the God. That’s pretty much how my future got secured.

Talking of future security- his noble highness Meinland decided to make my fate a court decision and scheduled a sitting a month into the new kingdom. They all sat down enjoying our land’s pears and some Chinaman’s dumblinks or whatever they called their whitened meatballs which I always reminded me of a bunch of scrota of some foreign beast and by the end of their meal decided to exile me to the last tower of their land. Now for those following this record- Pacifia became a taxable state of the kingdom of Nobilis and thus lost it’s boundaries and identity to the new king. I ended up at a God forgotten tower amidst the barren land with a waterfront at three sides and a strange, even more God forsaken road coming from the kingdom and headed towards the neighbouring kingdom of Rexnovis. Relations with this kingdom were so pacific that border security was taken for granted and neither of the states cared to check upon the welfare of the other even for periods as long as half a dozen years.

With a personal request from his Highness, I got carts of archives and writings coming and going over the next few years and I really enjoyed that as I rewrote all of them unto brand new leaflets. My life couldn’t be any better, but as always each garrison assigned to my tower always came back with a word of despise to king Meinland. All I did was just reading​ the texts without any harm to others, but it seemed that matured footsoldiers were mpre comfortable with utter displays of extraversion which wasn’t the case with me. This annoyed them terribly to an extent they started fearing me on pretext of sorcery.

I wasn’t a huge fan of liquor, but one of those days, glum about my situation with tower watchmen I walked into the nearest town, which happened to be on the ground of Rexnovis, but as I said- nobody even did as much as bat an eye on a foreigner. Seeing my morbid expression they even took our gleans as a payment. I got so drunk that the tavern returned whole 3 gleans and wished me to come to senses real fast and get some help or something like that before I tasted the ground of their stables, which unlike my expectations didn’t taste of horse excrement. That, most likely, wasn’t because they were being sincerely cleaned out, but because this town, just like my tower was- deserted. I don’t remember much of that day, just some guy running by my side- maybe even some scout, while I was making it to the tower and trying to explain that there was something wrong with his kingdom or mine, I don’t clearly remember, but I dismissed that as a dream and gulped down on it in the morning. The hangover hung over me for hours giving me a melodious torture of some eerie song they were singing at the tavern table across the border. The crew looked at me and I understood that they “just had enough of it all”.

After this nuisance on my part, garisson unease outgrew to an extent that Meinland rode his horse himself to cope with the situation. He arrived one early morning and I got to know about that as soon as the garisson got into a random melodious commotion and scattered trumpeteering building a unison along the way of it’s own harmony. In no time I was summoned from my room and he publicly proclaimed me to be further exiled to Rexnovis. While I stood halfpresent and bedazzled he dismissed his guards and held my shoulder saying- “You’re a great archivist Fatuus, but your conduct, howsoever rational it is to you and me, is creating a lame public’s unease… I want you to disappear for some time and thence I’m personally giving you a task to fulfill…”

The Chances

At playing card factory, piles of cards- all prints, get sorted…
Still hot, they travel miles, to get to box they courted…

We tag defective our lives- a solitary Joker of a deck conforming…

A random draw- high fives, thus turns our lives heartwarming…
Getting that tightly packed, they smudge each others’ ink…

Those tinsy smears stacked, amend more than you think…

Some turn Hearts sweet, hurt spiky- Spades few prick…

Some Diamonds built with heat, some Club until they sick…
How lucky is thy draw, depends on how you perceive…

The monster that you saw, turns to lifeline you recieve…

You’re boxed in, solitary Joker, and yours are chances rare…

This draw game is like poker, each draw- a million dollar affair…