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THE PREACHER WHO FAILED…..

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THE PREACHER

Many valiant rise,

but just to fail

in the land of devil

where evil prevails.

pray stop your legs

as you know nothing

of the dangers,

that are laid upon the way.

I fear death’s approach,

shall you not follow

the words, i utter.

Though I forgive you

for you are naive

but that doesn’t sense,

you won’t end in grave.

It’s not the devil –

of who you should fear

But the almighty.

Pray stop your legs.

The charming path which lays ahead

shall guide you nowhere,

but, to land of the dead.

Though its you,

who accepted the offer,

you not alone,

I too shall suffer.

For, I am the preacher,

you- the listener.

Whatever you are 

I am the creator.

But if you think different

then do what you may,

And I’ll be the one-

who’ll see you at bay.

Please remember as you go,

to join the comrade,

It’s not you – the listener,

But the preacher –

WHO FAILED.

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Wounded tongue

They have hurt my tongue so much

That now it is scared to speak

 

And my mouth resists from opening

Embarrassed, that the scabs and the wounds might show

That I can still taste on my tongue,

which avoids speaking anymore

 

For it might not speak at all

But bleed, in the color they would not understand;

 

And yet my mind, reckless

Ego-centric, and proud

Will not keep from birthing thoughts,

 

That like the beasts of the wilderness

Purge from their caves, burrows, and nests

to chase and hunt their prey,

 

In the form of ink

Will poison hearts and souls, as they feed on them,

with vicious serenity.

 

 

 

Beautiful for you

I know I am beautiful.

Haven’t you ever looked at my profile picture?

You ignorant fool!

Haven’t you seen my beautiful eyes?

The curvy lashes blackened with mascara

and the blue lenses that hide the blackness in my eyes,

My powdered cheeks and my delicate nose

I just got it done up,

“a little push upwards would make it glamorous”

my doctor had said,

and the story of my rosy lips is famous all over the world

Can’t you see the natural pout I have got?

I am beautiful you know,

the most beautiful girl in the world.

And how is my body?

the silicon pride with which my breasts are puffed

Isn’t the cleavage grand?

I know you like looking at them

that is why I got them

and my nearing zero size hips

I have starved enough to get them,

and what about my tight, round ass

don’t you admire the curve?

when I move in my Zara pants

and my feet, well I haven’t done anything with my feet

I left them natural and the heels do the trick.

Then I have filtered all the imperfections left

thanks to the camera in my smartphone

to elevate my beauty, to make known

as I once knew, that I am beautiful

and I am beautiful now,

I am beautiful for you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

These Eyes

These eyes, they have seen a lot

all there was to see,

and all there was not

blood on woman’s faces

tears in men’s eyes,

the incessant silence of life

the ceaseless screams that follow death.

 

These eyes have seen,

lost lovers and betrayed friends

roads without ends

rescue boats and fighter jets

desolate mountains and captured coasts

virtue sold for banknotes

and broken heart melt on a broken bench.

 

These eyes, they have seen

fools ruling over fools,

blown up tête-à-têtes

and truths buried in secrecy

bags of happiness thrown over piles of miseries

sleep choked in the grasp of reveries

witnessed only by the lonely, noctilucent clouds

who told the stories of earth’s pain to stars deaf.

 

These eyes, they have seen

Foolish saints and clever nuns

mass murders in the name of religion

forgotten disasters and tenacious fashion trends

the cage that this life can be

waiting for rest in death’s extent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When a leaf drops dead

When a leaf in the winter night,

Pierces through the moonshine and the air,

And drops dead on the ground

Does it bear the cognizance of its death?

 

The sacred departure from this life

And if it does, does it hope for a beyond

A life after death,

Does it want another life?

 

And if it does,

What does it expect to be?

A man, a beast,

Or perhaps just another leaf on a tree;

 

I am dubious of what it thinks

When a dead leaf drops on the ground

Without a sigh or moan, in the winter night

Does it accept death as wise men do forever,

Or does it hope for a heaven, scripted yet unfound.

 

Then I imagine  the day I would drop dead

As a leaf does in the silence of the night

And I wonder if I would just accept death

Or beg for another life.

 

I keep myself away

I resist the company of myself

for my thoughts poison my being

 

but I resist the company of others

because they begin to relinquish my existence

in all the moments I am with them

from the face of this earth

and make me a device of their own

Oblivious to the fact that they are ignorant

and their assumptions about me

reflects their thoughts, their ideas,

their existence

and hence, I keep myself away

to save my existence from being consumed by someone else’s.

Yet I dare not blame them too

for they are what they are and

I respect what I am,

and to keep them from doubts

and myself from misery

I keep myself away.

My verse

Do you think it hurts? That you don’t like my verse, That you ridicule my prose And say they are just absurd But maybe I am being perspicacious And doing it my way, Living life in more visceral display Than out of a dictionary of clever word play. Do you think your disparaging of my […]

via My way — fauxcroft