So began the epic, that is considered the standard for evaluating every other epic written. And today, I call upon them as I begin my blog, with the hope that perhaps one day my works would be considered not one whit inferior to that of Homer.
Poems, stories, essays, articles. Essentially, anything and everything presentable that my mind creates will find a place here. From the most inane to fundamental questions of philosophy, I hope everyone would enjoy reading them as much as I would enjoy writing them.
Long are the lines of the people,
Short, the privileged paths,
Above the throngs and the masses,
Lie the palaces of those of noble births.
Gnawed are the pillars of freedom,
Whips rattle, mere reforged chains,
Open is the gate for the dogs,
Closed are the doors for men.
Shackled are the stark pens of truth,
Reigns free, the poisoned quill of flattery,
Coins pave the way, turning lies into facts,
In the jaws of mongrels and curs, lies nation’s artery.
A distorted dream blooms in silken folds,
A nightmare of diseased, corrupted rules,
Of feasts in those grand imperial halls,
Built on the bones of starving, naked fools.
A miasma of fear, a fog of blind hate,
Grows within each mind, builds walls and factions.
Nurtured, by famed leaders and saints,
Turns to tokens of royal transactions.
Let their hounds tear at my flesh,
But my voice be heard as loud as thunder,
To shake their throne of human bones,
I will look upon my death also in wonder
The sun had set, the light had not,
The vast, velvety sea of clouds,
Looked stained, as if with crimson blood,
An ocean of red, where waves had frozen
The darkness came, again from East,
An east wind, and the returning calls of beasts,
Told of the dark night at the end of the day
But the dying sunbeams, seemed to say,
‘We’d rise again, and push the night to bay.’
Sunrises are beautiful, but sunsets are too,
For the setting Sun, gives the promise to rise again,
Sunsets harkens the falling of light, a prelude to the morning’s light.
Night is but a interregnum, to welcome the bright glory of dawn.
Splashing a thousand rainbows,
The radiance, how can the grey canvas hide?
The dull, thunderous nimbus,
Does it not birth the flashing riptide?
The blazing coronet of the day,
Appears, when shadows the Sun entomb.
The sea swallows the brightest light,
In that darkness, sublime luminaries bloom.
The brush, is in thine own hands,
The painting, the endless road.
Fate, a tapestry you weave,
And life, a song of your own.
In the veined temple of my heart,
Your idol has been smashed,
Yet the tapestry of my life,
Refuses to unwound your threads.
Like a drop of ink,
You have coloured my life,
Irrevocable, a part of my soul.
And to remove you, is beyond me.
My spring has long passed,
Left together with you.
Yet, the flame of hope refuses to die,
Burning to delay the onset of winter.
The world has changed,
A new wind blows,
A bitter, frigid wind,
Whose daggers tear into me,
And leave me a bloody, broken mess.
My sadness, the immortal phoenix,
Rises from the ashes
Of my happy delusions.
Along with her passing fancy,
My spring too has passed on.
The memories, cruelest of gods,
Tear my heart anew,
As hope, that sputtering flame,
Rebuilds it, every day;
And grows weaker for it.
To keep smiling,
With a volcano of pain,
I wait, for the eruption,
When the black Othrys,
of poisonous love will topple,
And I will live free under the blue skies.
She walks, a silhouette against the night,
The best of darkness and all things bright,
Like the splendor of the light of heavens,
Whose touch is forbidden even to Sun.
The tint of very first hue of day,
Is shamed in front of the queen of fae.
Cascades of gold like fine woven beams,
As if the sun shines upon the infant leaves.
The warbling brook, the nightangle’s song,
Behold in wonder her laughter long.
As if in heaven, sings the angels’ choir,
To hold in rapture mortal desires.
But one of the millions lovers of her,
I can love but never desire,
To behold yet never hold in my arms,
A hapless victim to immortal charms.
It would be a warm day,
Of spring, of cloudless skies
And of a gentle, soothing breeze.
The sunbeams would gently kiss
Our brows, setting our faces aflame.
And the wind, would scatter her scent,
Making me lose myself.
Her eyes would be shining,
In happiness, nay, in excitement
And my heart, would be doing somersaults,
In its wild abandonment.
And the world would stop in its axis,
The Sun and Moon in their tracks.
Immortalised in time,
Would be the instant
When we meet for the first time.