War guns

They say that it’s an art son
Making humans into war guns
Paper people, hearts blunt
Slide into your armours
That face deserves stardom
Your blood is to run in their gardens
Before planes shower pardons
What if the holy martyr
Turns out to be a bastard
What of the promised dark suns
This night lingers in all months
Go fix that paper mask
Paint it with soot and tar
Let flames engulf your mansions
Tonight we talk through arson
Die with brave scars sons
Reclaim what was ours once
Steady your guns, soldiers
Brewing wars they say, is an art son.

 

Her

Have you ever seen someone

Lose faith in front of you

Powereless, crying  clawing at the head

Kneeling, begging, sweating

Face red and contorted like the body

Like the mind in shambles

Have you ever seen their breath move

As it fills and leaves the lungs in vain

The hair in clumps flowing through fingers clutched

Have you ever seen someone in pain

As they crash in front of your eyes

Falling from a height divine

Their existence a burden their hearts can’t bear

Have you seen such a thing and lived 

Knowing you were the push off the brink

How does one live, knowing they killed a mind

And left it to rot in a flesh-clad machine

Tell me how I wash off the guilt

No soap can clean the grime off my skin

And no prayer can clean the filth off my soul

And my heart weighs me down like an anchor in my being

Have you ever seen someone lose sanity in front of you

Reach out to extinguish the glimmer of hope in an eye

Rub the wick between their fingers till the flame loses life

I see the mirror every night 

And see the other me as a dead girl with a smile 

A corpse trying hard to look alive

I have seen her stand defeated in front of me

And she doesn’t go away ever

Even when the mirror is broken and dead

She blooms in the shards like a ghost of past

Fall

I could see the others turning shades of brown and yellow. Their lush green gradually being replaced by a splendid crimson and chrome. It had arrived.

 Autumns cold brush had painted the entire garden into warm colors of death. Some trees were still speckled with green leaves, I noticed; but by tomorrow, every treetop will be ablaze in blinding flames of auburn.

Below me was a layer of dead leaves , carpeting the recently raked lawn. My siblings lay ominously far beneath me. I still had tiny dots of green, I noticed. A few hours maybe, and I’ll be amongst my lost friends. I too will fall.

The sadistic fall wind snaked through the tree branches. The same branches which once boasted lush leaves and flowers. Just a few months ago, they were the kaleidoscope of nature’s palette, now all that could be seen everywhere, was the coulour of blood when it has run stale.

She came for my tree next, blowing off any weak leaves that came in her way. It was my time now. Because everything that soars must fall.

The wind yanked at my stalk. I resisted instinctively. Death surrounded me. I held on tighter. Mother nature was determined. I want to live. Your time is up. Gravity sided up with them. My branch let go.

And so I returned to where I had risen from. My cradle now serving as my grave.