Rotten intestines pulsate like strings of a harp,
As the sky vomits amidst thunderous applause.
Each star is a day in the past,
The moon a dented future.
As blue in the river turns black,
The sewers are now free,
They have fought for long, a most chess like battle.
Sense that lay trapped in an ancient tree
Has too been chopped open free.
We are free
To hate
To cheat
To betray
We are free
From this cyclic pretense of nature.
Raising her own hands to her neck,
She chokes out all air
And does not let go till she is sure,
Hope was once there.
We are Sisyphus with boils on our feet and ulcers in our stomach.
Little fish nibble away, as pus from them peeps.
We are Sisyphus in his steepest, darkest descent.
We are two faced,
Sissy
And
Pus
And we sure as hell, fester.
We are only clay, water and air.
Only that.
Have we ever been human?
Has there been a single day when justice wasn't denied?
It is time
To finally kick our souls
To the very center of the earth's molten core.
No revolution has ever seen a logical end
A time to sew is past
It is now a time to rend.
But wait!
This is not what I intended to say
My pen too is wanton
And has its way.
Perhaps it is fine to be cynical and whine,
But there is more to this emotion.
Where am I ?
This is not the world to which I had opened my eyes.
Though still, I felt all this while,
Deeply and strongly as I was shred to pieces,
I felt it is just alright,
Hell! It is in fact fine, to feel what I felt,
Even if I only felt nauseatingly disgusted all this while.
