how tempest blow the southern winds
singing and asking questions; in varied riddles and puzzles,
the answers were varied and enumerated as such
he spoke candidly as he sipped on the poisonous cup:
“he is a mighty aware man; with might lies,
his lips speak false; truth in his eyes.
he is you if you see closely, not a thing apart,
the beginning of your sins, and the last beat of your heart.
tortured, not. saviour, maybe. his quest is to solve others for that brings him solace.
a quest to quench the thirst for reason & knowledge.
the why of it all, beyond the how and the what.
empathy was an old vice; older still was violence.
he lives now with a detached apathy & chooses silence.
the only words worth mentioning, will be scribbled using the quill.
living on in between the but and the still.
easy is the usual norm; more difficult is the pursuit beyond.
when the thoughts are heavy and the nights are long
and the only sound is the silence and songs
i know you guessed my name.
but could not comprehend the game.
those that say they understand don’t
those that say they don’t care do.
time to pick up the pain brush and paint the town blue
i understand thee, but do you understand the you?
the chase is to sit on the big chair
but the chair is masquerading, it is the devil’s snare.”
and saying thus, knowing all, he finishes the drink.
drops thoughts, drops it all, and begins to sink.
some thoughts are better kept within and to self
or preached as the holy sermon when he rules in hell.
मंच 