Death

Death.

A concept.

A reality.

The state when a life is plunged into a state of nothingness,

Absolute and empty.

This world is not a slave of time.

It is far beyond it.

It is the emptiness,

The absolute freedom.

No words.

No reason.

No reality.

No time.

Nothing.

It is the state of absolute nothing.

It is the state of absolute freedom.

It is death.

A concept.

A reality

Advertisements

THE ATTACK OF THE REd

White and Red.

White-

The color of purity,

The color of death,

The color of peace,

The color of nobility,

The color of the absolute monarchy that oppressed, conquered, nurtured and protected people of a primitive race that were children of ice and snow.

White and Red.

Red-

The color of blood,

The color of war,

The color of love,

The color of hunger,

The color of the change that brought a tradition of centuries to its knees and stained its existence forever.

White and Red.

Red and White.

Old and New.

Contradiction, overlapping.

“we’ve got to move into the modern world,

We’ve got to protect ourselves from the epidemic of evil.

The evil shall not penetrate”

Faces blur.

Bodies pile.

Screams and chants echo-

Who are you?

What is your cause?

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Tsar is the Father.

The Tsar is the leader-

Eternal loyalty now questioned,

After centuries of blind faith

France and an unknown continent inspired,

A new empire born,

They screamed out questions-

Questions that were never asked.

Questions that had no answer.

Faces fade,

Words echo,

The dead come and the dead go

Where are the answers?

Who asked the questions?

Confusion is the permanent state of mind.

Determined not to relieve the bloody change of an allied empire,

They’re on their knees.

Children slaughtered in a misunderstood war-

Fight for your nation,

Fight for your Tsar,

Fight for your pride.

Children stolen,

A generation murdered

Where did the time go?

Confusion is the permanent state of mind.

I am a socialist.

I am a communist.

I am a royalist.

Where does your allegiance lie?

Kill the revolution.

Silence the change.

Save the Tsar.

Kill the Tsar.

Change is good.

Silence his supporters.

Inequality is bad.

Promises-

Hollow words-

Equality for all

Food for all

Clothing and shelter

Equal pay

Rewards are tempting.

Stop the war.

Stop the systematic slaughter.

Run away.

Save your children.

Oppression shall not prevail.

New world, New order, New society.

White and Red

Red and White

Old and New

Who are you?

What is your cause?

Where does your loyalty lie?

Le Miroir

Gold and silver-

Platinum maybe.

It shines.

It’s all the same.

Framing the mirror-

They say it reflects.

It doesn’t. The mirror doesn’

t reflect.

Mirrors were created by the devil.

Envy is a sin.

It poisons the heart in every reflection and whispers-

“Beauty is your only weapon. Use it for salvation”

It echoes a flawed world-

Never beautiful, never perfect, never enough.

Each reflection leads the eye to the brink of insanity.

It whispers everlasting youth-

The greatest lie of all,

Disguised as the greatest wish ever made,

Marching along with faceless soldiers

In a dream parade.

You can’t look away.

It won’t let you.

Your dreams, your desires, your wishes,

Your soul-

You are the slave of your desires.

But when you do look away,

When you return to the realm of real and the sane,

You realize-

You are drowning.

You drown in seas of fire.

AN INTRODUCTION TO DEATH

Day turns to night.

Daylight melting away into darkness,

Life melting away into the arms of

The dead.

Laughter turns to silence,

Memories turn to dust,

All that’s left are burning ashes,

Scattered across the planet’s deserted crust.

We’re all his captives.

We’re all his prisoners-

Pale and helpless,

Waiting for the time he knocks on our door

And offers us a ride in his dark carriage.

Kings turn to servants,

Servants turn to slaves,

Names and faces are forgotten

As crowns and spades are abandoned.

He is the ultimate judge

The unquestioned ruler of the darkness.

We all fall to his frozen touch,

His frozen tendrils lingering and crushing both

Mind and heart,

Forcing the soul to desert

the body it used, tore and abused.

He remained the same,

Since the times of Egypt and Rome,

To the worlds of Hitler and Stalin.

Always prompt,

He executes his job,

never taking a single day off.

He’s an excellent worker.

He loves his job.

He never speaks a word.

He only observes from the shadows,

Like a raven perched on a branch at the graveyard,

He’s got no use for words.

Communication is for mortals.

He watches infants grow.

He courts the lonely teenager.

He comforts the wiling adults.

He guides the nostalgic grandmother.

He resides behind the world,

In shadows where the time refuses to move,

But on that one day,

At midnight,

He steps into the world of the living

Parading off his army of

Unconscious believers that the human eye

Is blind towards

He reaps for his job,

For no single being can resist,

His gentle frozen touch.

Black is the absence of white.

Night is the absence of daylight.

Death is the absence of life.

The Song of War

Light was frozen,

Dead.

The sun had forgotten how to smile.

Sunlight was no longer warm.

It was frozen.

It was dead.

So were the eyes of those who starred upon

The earth covered with an elaborate carpet of

Bleeding corpses,

Rotting as time skipped over them.

Rivers bleed crimson,

Tears turn red,

As winds unknown to the human eye,

Chant the ruins of human song.

This is a time of terror,

This is a time,

When chaos turned black.

Hand in hand,

Gun with gun,

Shoot down the enemy,

Conquer for your country,

They bribed us with the concept of elusive bravery.

“all’s fair in love and war,” whispered the wailing faces.

Light was frozen,

Dead.

The sun forgot how to shine,

The clouds forgot how to cry.

“this is peace,” declared the priests of terror.

Soldiers fall like flowers,

Dirtied and bloodied-

Pink and red.

Their faces all the same,

Their eyes frozen,

Pleading for an escape.

The same haunting smile,

Their skin, pale and white-

Snow-like.

“this is life,” declared the priests of terror.

Films of daylight and midnight,

Sail across the oceans of time,

As the bells of the past summers,

Echo in worn whispers.

Light was frozen,

Dead.

A ghost

Surrendering its pride to its dark victor,

As the soul deserts the body,

Torn to shreds,

Shattered like the glass pieces

Scattered across the floor.

Midnight

Midnight.

The absolute absence of light.

Midnight.

The kingdom of moonlight.

Cursed to sleep,

Eyes are stitched shut viewing dreams-

Flowers if Hecate is kind and

Skulls if she is not.

Sentenced to a brief period of hibernation,

Only the rebellious winds rustle the leaves,

The flowers,

Obstructed by rocks,

Unable to slice it in two equal halves.

Droplets of condensed milk draw a translucent-trail,

Abusing the silence of the night,

Abusing the silence.

Desolation and isolation are the new norms.

Serenity is long forgotten.

Only the momentary pause of the actions of the day.

Only the momentary absence of the living.

Midnight.

The absolute absence of daylight.

Midnight.

The kingdom of the moonlight.

THE DEATH OF GOD

God is dead.

Good is dead.

Did it even exist in the first place?

All that existed was the human mind.

What did not kill it was good and what did was bad.

God is Bad.

God is Dead.

God killed the human mind when he created Humanity.

He made his children bleed.

He made them argue with fists, blades and bullets.

He created the art of war.

He created war to be kind.

Humans were born to be torn apart,

To be bled as pigs and treated as dogs.

God killed humanity when he created it.

He hated Adam.

He despised Eve.

He created the virtue of slaughter.

He created the worship of war.

He created the virtue of torture.

God is bad.

God is dead.

God is dead.

Good is dead.

Did it even exist in the first place?

All that existed was the human mind.

What did not kill it was good and what did was bad.

God is Bad.

God is Dead.

THE ANTHEM OF THE SINNERS

We’re all born sinners.

All sinners go to Hell.

So how does it matter what we do?

Take a life,

Spare one,

Create one-

It just doesn’t matter any longer.

We’re all born sinners.

All sinners go to hell.

Yes, you heard me right.

I met Satan, Lucifer too actually.

They taught me the art of warfare.

The art to kill

The precise skill to take a life and enjoy it

It really is an ordinary job.

Everyone is eligible.

That’s why they recruited for the war,

Snatching away the youth and time

From the hearts of the living

And trust me,

They have a strict no discrimination policy.

It is really not all that bad

You get to steal the lives of your enemies-

You get paid for that too.

‘It’s the best job I ever had’

And they’re not joking around.

They play with guns and dance to

The music of the shattering shells,

On a dance floor of shattered skulls and bones.

They dance with death.

And those who he rejects return,

Scarred for life,

Alive on the fringes of society like starving wolves

Always craving for another drop of human blood.

But it is alright.

We’re all born sinners.

All sinners go to Hell.

BLEED

A language is a living organism.

It sheds old words

Every hour, every day, every second, every year.

It sheds words-

Old, unwanted and irrelevant;

And it adopts and absorbs new word,

Each mouth inventing its own word,

Starting its advance from the day the infant was born.

Each word is a declaration of war-

For land, power, hunger, water-

It is a war for the world

Words created this world and they will shatter it.

A language is a living organism.

Words are its blood.

The very thing that brought it to life will cause its death.

It grows, it evolves, it dies, it fights, it struggles-

A language is a living organism.

A language is the thread of society.

Words are its threads and punctuations are its stitches.

A living organism is a language.

A language is I.

WORDS UNSPOKEN

Words, you speak,

Are sounds escaping your lips.

They mean nothing.

Words that sounds different,

Accents of glamor, roughness, ice and warmth.

Each word lingers, carrying forward the accents of another world-

“a collection of words is a language”

Each language holds its own mother religion captive

Each language holds its own culture

Each language holds its own history

Each language holds me.

They mean nothing to me

Words are the threads of society,

The glue that holds it together

The thread that makes unmasked faces dance like puppets

Words are the command for the puppets

The one who speaks these words is the ultimate puppeteer.

The words you speak,

They mean nothing to me.