The madness of men

"You are mad",
It has been said,
When times are bad,
and great plans are being laid.

Scoffed by all,
Even the common folk,
The madman is,
When he uses his yolk.

For in their own small homes,
Unthinking beyond,
They do now see the mind flown,
The genius spawned.

For the madman is unlimited, unbound,
By the bonds of the lot,
And once those concerns deleted,
The madman hatches his prodigious plot.

Such outrageousness, shocks many,
But in the end,
After the death of cacophony,
The madman has made the world bend.

Such are the geniuses,
Who are labelled mad,
Changing the pretenses,
The dull proletariat had.

Unimaginable feats are always done,
By men who are mocked all around,
Because a true man all alone,
Is by the feckless always frowned upon.

But in their hands is the true power,
The power of change,
An evolution they must deliver,
With as little as they can maim.

This madness is in all my friends,
The faculty, this freedom within,
Why try to be one who simply blends,
When you can a revolution bring!

Just me.

It's hard to be young nowadays.
We have no revolution, no war.
No plagues, and no dictatorship.
There's nothing new, because everything ends up being a copy of the copy of an idea that someone else has already had, a long time ago.
Religion doesn't hold us anymore.
Neither does morality.

We simply face life, and carving it, deal with it and with the people around us.
And for me that has become an impossible task.
I'd rather have problems like those at the beginning, where it's easier to deal with, because we know what we are supposed to do.
But when we face life, we don't know what to expect or how to react to the situations that arise in it.
I wish I could think like most of the people, but unfortunately, I don't have that gift.
I wish I could ignore my doubts regarding this existence and satisfy myself with the football results, or what's going on TV, on any other futility or convention  which might waste my time.
But I am restless about my intellect, about my emotions, actions, disappointments and deceptions.
Perhaps I have an issue.
Perhaps i'm just different.
I don't understand why people seek happiness so much.
Consuming it incessantly, without caring about what exists beyond it.
I believe that life is not only happiness, and that sorrow has a similarly important role in how we see things and deal with them.
That may be because I owe much more to sorrow than to happiness.
I suppose that a person who has had more happiness than sorrow will think differently.

But this is just me being me.

Mistress of my soul

Our reunion needs no words, dear,
For there is nothing to say,
You complete me in such a way,
As might a lover to a girl.


Mistress of my soul,
How do I speak with you?
For my words meander on your infinity,
And your answer does come from the fall.
It leaves me so enamoured and full,
That I do not even need a beckoning call.


How do you know, how to quench this thirst,
And calm my weary quarrelling soul,
The secret which even I do not know,
Even though I hold it in it's earthly hole.
Where do you hide this soothing balm,
This panacea, better than all,
The ultimate serum which through mere sight,
Does push away my untimely pall.
Leaving but my essence to dance with you,
My mortal being silenced for a few.


O mother of many, how do you care,
For all like they were your own,
Feeding them, cleansing them, cradling them beside you,
Giving them a home.


Why do you let them ravage you so?
Without getting your heartbeat up,
And why do you wreak such havoc and death,
Upon such a slight brawl?


Many things you are my dear darling,
But noones to command and call,
For many lovers might die at you feet,
But you are their final sprawl.

Goodbye.

O fair lady of Mazomer, how hast though changed me so?
From the cold, hard guise of a marauder, how has though made me a gentle doe?
For gone are the days, when I was steel.
Entering perilous frays, heart unmoved by the most eerie squeal.
Now a weak mortal I am,
In this bestial world a lamb.
And after all this dis-spiriting wrought,
Why do you leave me in this Hades to rot?

Brought Down

A silent wind whispered through,
The silent brambles of the fall,
Carrying along the brown, dark leaves,
From their withered fragile holds.

A sign of the coming darkness,
A beacon to hibernation's call,
And all do prepare to hide away,
Inside a fire's warm soft shawl.

For does come the majestic chill,
Heralding their frozen king,
To take upon his regency,
The reins away from monsoon's pall.

A monarchy of the cimmerian shade,
Bringing about an anarchy,
An anarchy of deranged minions foul,
Filling these empty pavements with ghouls.

Their silent howls, call their brethren.
From their deathly coma,
To burst forth from their carapaces,
Into this infernal land.

They roam upon the barren streets,
Eyeing those cowering inside,
Inside their decrepit homes,
Dithering in this freezing fear.

Are you ready, O readers,
For this upon us in nigh,
The time when mighty man bows before,
The true csars of this creation.

Union

A lonely vagabond was I,
Lost in life’s intricacies.
When woken up was I,
From this epoch dreary.

The earth was in full unsheathe,
Like a lonely apsara in dance,
Beckoning her lover to bequeath,
But even a glance.

And what an anwer there was!
Their bodies did entwine,
Their love fell, and twas’
The shower of their liquid sunshine.

The creatures of this earth and sky,
Rejoiced in the magic.
In the madness of the loving high,
Creating joy from even the tragic!

The armies of the empyrean,
The dark and mighty legions,
Did parade till the azure ocean,
Announcing their master’s adulant union.

The wind came out of hiding,
And shreiked with jealous might,
Seeing its flame consorting,
With a lover who did affright.

The flora below bended in the gale,
In the flood from above.
Oblivious to their condition frail,
Enchanted by the enamouring love.

And the lovers did glow from within,
Ablaze in their appetance.
Their bewitching dance silently creating,
A fresh layer of nature’s extravagance.

In this waking luminescence,
I was morphed into a being new.
My eyes now look at this firmament,
But see Elysium anew.

Water, water everywhere.

I weep for that which was,
Was destroyed by my own hand,
Regret does sink in me its claws,
Now at this life's stand.

Cannot I be forgiven,
Or given a start anew?
For with thee I will fight the raven,
With all might and sinew.

Another chance, if you might so bear,
Will not disappoint I think,
For there's water, water everywhere,
But you're my drop to drink.