In an age of humans, the demons are falling,
the flight that lifted them, once in a rage,
today those prospects, are seen as appalling,
for their wings have faltered, in complacency’s cage.
The boundless skies, and kingdoms unreachable,
ruled by the family, of the burning sun,
but today, the pantheist’s once unimpeachable,
feel the cold ground, for now they are done.
Yea! they breathe fire, ferocious as before,
but a fire now passionless, and a flight no more,
the inferno exhaled, but extinguished amour
to ride with the Valkyrie’s, feel the verdure.
Malevolent they were, leviathans of yore,
but glorious in treason, and glorious furor.
See? Man is servile to be but civilized
so he rescinds his roots and fails to realize
born from the soil does not make him a stain
like born from the fire does not make one abstain
to burn into ashes, from ashes to reign
on the kingdom of heaven, a legacy in vain.
Watch those demons, how they vanish delible,
ruined by the pride of what they had been endowed,
for in the face of times, all glory is fallible,
and remember why man must prevail here and now.
Nothing is forever, remember that mortals,
we were the ones, once that you feared,
but now that we depart, through our dying portals
there is a foe, that now has appeared,
daunting, and fearless, not subject to predilection,
the entity of time and mortality and how
if you survive their dawning, and appear in liberation
We! the immortals, to you shall we bow!
In an age of humans, the demons are falling,
Fly O grim messenger by my word, on thy monstrous wing,
the shadow that blackens the sky, across it melancholy bring,
fueled by the fire of the war, fire is all thou breathe,
take thee love turn thither to hate, hate is what thou breed.
Firemoth I dub thee, exempt of my reach thou fly,
burning will indomitable, still strangely wish death may die,
and still thou harvest reconcile yet ravage the hive that feeds thee,
far and yonder, beyond my reach, while helpless is all I can be.
The fool that holds an arrow, scarcely holds the will
and turns his eye blind to thy wish, so feed thou to thy fill,
fly Firemoth O’ fly away, turn away from my hand
but do return unto my hive, and wreak a destruction grand,
with time and tide I wither away, hence I remind thee of my child,
suckle and drink from its being, with fear too humble the wild.
Plunged in darkness, the blinding deep, fearful of the light
the fruit that never feels the season, hardly suffers the blight,
and the progeny of fear birthed then, dissent for them all
inherited fear, dissent the legacy, both on them shall call.
The iron hide, and iron tail, Leviathan of the skies
for the wind that sails beneath its wings, is the wind of helpless cries
Firemoth, bangana, or drone, whichever name thou heed to,
let the bell toll for me, so that the world can burn for you.
O memory, thou art a friend of mine,
friend of blood, and a friend of wine,
friend of old, but one that stays
and though all else has come to past,
I still find you in quiet yesterdays
with hopes and dreams I thought would last,
and standing by the one I loved,
drenched in the yellow of the moon,
and all the fragrance that I loved
but come to me O memory soon.
For lonely I do sit for now,
in my cold and darkened room,
thinking why and if and how
I could go back and turn the bow,
perhaps to waters mild and soft,
perhaps to waters more and oft.
But do tell O sweet memory
what happened to all our company?
surely someone must remain,
No? perhaps I must refrain,
but tell me do my fickle friend,
where has my great kingdom gone?
to where do winds of fate now send
the ashes of my fading dawn?
I fear there is only you and I,
blinded me and shapeless you,
one that can not help but die,
and one that can not help but rue,
of falling trees and standing lie’s,
all the places that I knew,
turning to pictures faint and dry
crumbling under the burdened age
their dust now blowing with a sigh
for losing youth and turning sage.
Come to me O sweet memory
take me back to summers of my years
enough of this gloomy misery
enough of these opalescent tears …….
O! my zenith how are thee?
shall we go on a walk this noon?
hold my hand now will not ye?
do tell what thou have been up to!
Death seems more life like, than what you behold,
yonder there, dunes of sand or seas of gold?
rafts of paper or vessels of dreams untold?
either way drown, when the turns unfold.
In lakes of realism or loves blood sold,
hiding the sodden secrets, forever when cold,
beats a hopeless heart, like a flutter in the dark,
praise the broken winged, bird imprisoned yet bold.
How to live in the name of living, you kill your own soul,
bathing in a river of tears, faces young, hearts old,
better is death, than this life untold,
without love, without loss, our minds we mold,
Nay, with pride I soothe a bleeding heart,
while you fear breaking the glass you hold.
If I could rescind from what I regret
I fear there is nothing I could recall,
for when paragons opposing do collide,
kingdoms of necessity finally fall.
And those that stray farthest from the light
cast the shadows deep and tall,
yet I stood for the better of the best
and took the repute of the ones who fall.
How goodly did I feign apathy,
how hollow but rotund was my call,
and knighted was I for embracing the dark,
hearing the sound of life beyond the wall.
They say I hurt for I love to bleed
so they smile when I bleed for them all,
yet I take what they give and hide from the light
my muse this silence, my shelter this night.
But hear me, O Mortals! for the day shall come
when all your idols among all your cries
will lift not a finger for all you give
and then you shall know how false hope dies.
Yea! look to the horizon call me forth,
find me in the truth and among the lies,
for death is to me but a vessel of life,
and where hope must fall I must rise
As the retreating night reveals the ruin
of yesterday and the many days before,
I see the people finding a reason in
departing from their slumbers deep of yore,
We have not much to show, or boast of,
clearly the glory of our past exceeds
that which we have left today, but enough
is our resolve to live and succeed.
Build a better nation, love forever more
live peaceful, humble, wounded but as one,
heal what is scarred, and soothe that which is sore,
we shall rest one night, knowing we have won,
and before the exalted kingdom of nothing,
we shall gladly take the wilted flowers of war,
among them, as them, for them, in them and bring
what is innocence and nurture it in the day, for
a day shall come when hope shall return forever,
and if not, then indeed it deserves that which is treason
to the thinking and fearful, and deep must we endeavor
to prevail, or wither away in the hope of another season.
The wind, it whispers to me some days,
“there is no greater evil”, it says,
“than the evil of desperation great,
and the obligation of adhering fate”.
With the gathering fog upon the horizon,
I am reminded of a hopeless night,
where upon I willed to see the Holy mizzen,
the Royal Mosque and behold its sight.
But somewhere along the beguiling path,
I endeavored to incite the godly wrath,
for truly the steps of an indulgent sinner
can wear the string of faith even thinner
Lo! there was I in the castle of colors
amidst the ruined and crumbly pillars
that sheltered a thousand bastard kings,
echoed with the sound of broken wings.
This was the ill fated palace of sin
and the house of the rising sun therein,
a thousand chambers of libido’s embrace
and peeked from within each a heavenly face.
Desires and dreams flowed vivid and free,
in virgin passions and sweetest sherry.
See, the test of religion is simple and just,
you must travel to God’s house to find Him,
but the ease of temptation, sinning and lust
is that Satan entreats you to invite him.
Where wood must blacken in voracious fires
hearts must burn in incessant desires.
Neigh was the moment when I saw this siren
the sincerest two eyes towards me arisen,
I had lost my breath along with all fidelity
submitting to her seemed the only morality,
this Venus of avolition, she came to me
and drove my blood in a most torrid sea,
but with a voice I swear could set me free,
she whispered the words that can never be
forgotten and Lo! they were as I write,
“Fear not my Saint of ill fated men
you are a mortal before your religious rite
and mortals may fall every now and then,
but it takes an immortal to see the light
there! beyond where these colors divide,
true hope and this sullenly momentous delight,
lies the path to what you must decide,
the Holy Mosque or this shameful abode?
the throne of God, or this loveless bed?”
These words touched me at a poignant node
and before I lay, I awoke and fled,
I found the path she had told me of.
I came upon the great Holy Mosque,
someone at its gate did recognize me,
and asked of me, “O! great saintly one!
Of those wretched women do you not agree?,
the ones that belong to the rising sun,
that they have long tested the faith of men,
and have wished to turn the pious unto them.
How I wish that God would burn that palace,
the only home of true evil and malice”.
Twice I thought and then two times more,
of how guilty I felt for opening that door,
but then and there, amidst the passing crowd,
I saw those eyes and a visage a’shroud,
she pulled her veil and she smiled to me,
she had walked that path to come and see,
if I had reached where I had wished to be,
while the wind blew by with willful glee.
I had returned, as the Babylonian rebel
with the restless anticipation of Edens gate,
and there stood she, that madonna of Babel,
locked out of Heaven by a merciless fate.
You see the feathers how in loves season,
they float away to unknown shores,
in pairs or lonely from exhausted passion,
extinguished flames in lakes so placid,
how you yearn and so does she,
your lovely swan companion true,
to have your feathers but drift together,
away and further on the delicate water.
Hope shall find you, O lonely bird!
and so shall love when the time is due,
in waters icy, and frozen nests,
warm embraces, and her soft caress,
for she is the one, the only one,
and how can two hearts be so wrong?
look upon the misty gardens,
where upon swim your fellow swans,
no one is as broken as her,
and neither is one beautiful as She,
not a time as fruitful as this,
not a season as wondrous as now,
shall come again to the icy garden,
where love, fire and life can sleep.
Someday we will meet, someday very soon
someday when I am wise, but still a hearty fool.
I know that I disgust you, I know that you feel shame,
to know that you once loved me, and now I feel the same.
Someday under the giant oak, that shades over us all,
and bears the fruit of love, yet worries of no fall.
How delightful would it be, to reside in your embrace?
to feel your comely warmth, to see your loving face!
I dream of this and more, without you by my side,
and see you as I look, find you as I hide.
Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of you,
the red branches of autumn, that warm subtle hue,
the soft glowing fire, in the kindling wood so few,
the falling leaves of maple, all the ones I knew,
for everything I feel, I feel for me and you,
like the sleeping grass is drunk, on the morning dew,
and as I hear a budding flower, and its petals strip,
I hope the silence ends, with the parting of your lips.
You can walk amidst the shadows, but I see you far and wide,
that deep blue scarf of yours, with the scarlet by its side.
I dream we sit sincere, before the dying sun,
and make the most of light, before the light is done,
the strands of hair left on my cheek, I pull while weeping late,
and how they fall so languidly, lifeless like my fate.
Someday we must meet, and speak what was unspoken,
make what was not made, mend what was unbroken.
Though you may forget me, I will not forget you,
you were the first I loved, the last, and ever new,
we both gazed at each other, pretending not to care,
concealed within our hearts, that we dreaded to share,
you waited for me, as did I, to let someone be the first,
to taste what is servility, to drink or die from thirst.
For all the sleepless nights, and all the listless days,
all the chasing shadows, all the gathering haze,
I regret not even one, I cherish but all the wake,
and the trance that I was in, for life and livings sake.
When all our youth shall have been wasted, in guilt and recompense
loss shall have been our legacy, and lost shall have been our sense,
to remember what never happened, to recall what never must,
and someday shall we turn, from flesh to lifeless dust.
The world remembers no one, and neither one mans deed,
then why waste our time, for reputes we do not need?
Behold the starlit ocean, and the floating heavens within,
how only the brightest we know, and forget the rest therein,
we live not for remembrance, then why this shame of fate?
give yourself to me my love, let us leave this world of hate!
Care not for words of hatred, we are but mere pariahs,
our sojourn the graves we dig, and this dirt but our messiah,
Someday we shall meet, a day I pray come’s soon,
perhaps an autumn evening, or maybe a summer noon.
You complain, I never knew you, but how can it be true?
for words may surely evade you, if my silence you misconstrue!
I admit we never spoke, and there was naught to share,
but love is more than that, if only you would care,
for the air you breathe is the same as mine, that was how I met you,
the dirt you tread is the path benign, that is how I know you,
the trees you touch and the fruits so fine, that is how I feel you,
the wind you grace to which seasons resign, that is how I greet you,
the drinks you take with lips align, that is how I touch you,
the moon that glows and the sun that shines, that is how I embrace you.
I own you not I set you free, frolic as you may,
but once you return restless, anon and ever stay,
know that I watch over you, care not for what they say,
for they are only mortals, so play my “zenith” play.
But shall you tire of running, from me and from yourself,
shall you find no due refuge, in thoughts of someone else,
look to where the paths diverge, and tread the less walked by,
come to where fields turn to gold, and behold the weeping sky,
red and pink, with tears of the sun, no end or darkness neigh,
come to where the time stands still, and waits for you and I,
but make haste to find the blessed path, for when the day shall run,
away it shall for a thousand moons, and the day shall never come
when among the strangers of this world, to each other we shall owe
a smile though old and wrinkled then, but its meaning we shall know,
“this life is but a passing wind, and we but grains of sand
to where it leads, worlds unknown, but still we grip its hand”.
If all was lost but your embrace, If all was gone but your presence,
know that I would love nonetheless, I have loved you for your essence.
But I feel that I disgrace you, and I know you must feel pain,
to know that “love begets love”, but ours yields nothing to gain,
I promise you no throne, for a kingdom I do not rule,
I promise you not tomorrow, for time is no mans fool,
all I have to give, is the promise of my passion,
an undying one at that, and a will your whims shall fashion.
To you I may be no one, no more than a face in a crowd
but dare not pity me fallen, for that face is hurt but proud,
and the drops of grief that fall below, the drops you may call tears,
are not for you but me, are not for grief but fear,
that I lost my heart to you, and you have no heart to give,
but I fear that I learned long ago, how without a heart to live.
Time may not be on my side, and its grip shall seal my fate,
and to live for love while waiting, is to die from love found late.
Yet I live on weak and aimless, and I wander to find my reason,
then I recall the day I saw you, and how the changing season,
brought the winds of winter, the words of poems and rhymes,
and the one I whisper to myself, which reminds me of my crime,
“That someday we will meet, not someday very soon
when days of wine and roses, shall come when past their bloom”.