I've forgotten how to cry

There is this dull hollow, within.

A soldier in need of war.

She can resolve only within,

For she’s a fool at war.

Two spaces, two very different spaces.

Wave over wave, she’s struck.

POW at last, like any other longing death.

She isn’t getting weak, thus scared.

Dormant collateral damage.

Rage. Floods. Ambush.

I’ve forgotten how to cry.

That Kid

There was a kid, probably 3-4 years old. He'd come with his mother. I couldn't help but notice him. He was hyped up, full of energy and wanted to play.

He was fair, cute, and his mother had to keep an eye on him as he cruised the vicinity.

We were at church and his mother found it a bit awkward doing so, yet instincts took over and her eyes were fixed over him.

Fortunately for her, he'd geared down, just for the moment though. It was the time of ceremony, where we were to kneel down. Everyone did, so did the mother.

The kid had grown tired of sitting idle. He noticed this gesture by the people in the gathering. One would probably assume he did the same too, despite which, he visualized a rather interesting scenario.

He went behind his mother who was kneeling down in prayer, and sat over her legs. I wonder what the thoughts through her mind were then, probably nothing, probably she was used to his playfulness, yet again, just curious.

He apparently didn't find the game amusing enough. He got up, held his mother by her shoulder, stepped over her legs, with rather feeble balance, almost slipped off once, but his mother, held him up. Once he was up and relatively stable and balanced, he looked around, satisfied at his feat, cherished the elevation for a brief time and his mother helped him down.

I've emphasised the scale a bit, feel free to paint the scenario in your head with a lot of innocence and cuteness.

Innocence and cuteness : something the world had stolen from us long long ago.

Or was it a foolish sacrifice?….

St. Joseph's Cathedral.
Chengalpet, Tamil Nadu.
India.

Feb 28, 2016.

The actor

Why do we talk to mirrors in the dark hallway?

Why do we smile at them?

Is it because they can keep a secret?

Is it because you’re depraved for the service they offer?

Or Is it because they’re enslaved to the same?

The radiant candour spirit walks free,

The defiant mimic stalks, wreaking a killing spree.

We haven't lost those ancestral traits.

The hunts through those ancestral days.

With the consolatory echo that ran across framing kin,

Funny that you haven’t despised yourself as of now.

Alas!

Cheaters and liars make of the world as brethren in the same.

The mimic is weak, a feeble magician.

An unrefined statistician.

Unwary of the shrapnel left behind.

A treasury of floo, with a name inscribed.

And soon your game described.

BEWARE.

A Wave of Gratitude at

the Candour Spirit across the country.

The game I lost

It was something we did together

We didn't work hard, yet a bout together.

We searched, built, and failed.

We searched, built, and goal.       

It was something he was proud of.

Unlike me, he had done it for me.

He guided and learnt with Me.

The face I hadn't seen.

Moments to cherish throughout my life.

The supplement by constraint.

Constraint, a funny word indeed.

Constraint with anonymous love indeed.

Alas! I lost.

I'm sad, not because i I lost…

The Maker's Mask

The world might appreciate me, but it's a secret.

Taboo might appreciate me, but it's a secret.

A noble knight in the night? Masked.

A pimp in all might? Masked.

So far it's been free of cost.

But in the end I fear, I might be lost.

Do I?

I'm afraid the knight demands a price,

Let alone, the harlot across the ice.

At the least, my life. Eventually.

Brands are free, easily availed

Knight or pervert is a game, the most avert.

Jobless hypocrites waiting for the knight.

Beware, the job is addictive. Touchwood.

Secrets are meant to be revealed.

Only when the above appeal.

Do carry on, yet wear a mask with might.

Only until the dawn, not tonight.

Be it either pole,Justify the equatorial mask.

Never surmise, else cherish the hypocritical casked.

Dare to?

You can't be both at once, you aren't that good

They're extreme poles.

All at once, and you'll fall for good.

They're deep holes.

Yet again, you're welcome to.

Don’t be the oblivious coward…

Rage

The kid in darkness, waiting.

Past bedtime, waiting.

An assassin with darkness, waiting.

Lurking the hollows, waiting.

A mother dead.

Hopeless drops of rage.

The ground beneath, rattles.

So does the hiss of the rattle.

Silence. Rage. Darkness.

The kid in darkness, waiting.

Rage too, waiting.

A father slaughtered;

Face to door, hammered.

The kid in darkness, rises.

Rage too, rises.

The door swings; a cry of love.

The kid springs; a sigh of pain.

The kid in darkness, finds his dad.

The assassin with darkness, alive yet dead.

Love. Dilemma. Pain.

The assassin, breathless, pale and guilty.

The kid, bright like never before.

Rage an intense emotion. Immensely powerful. Not necessarily fury...

Pursuit of light : My right.

What have I done?

To be left blunt.

I reckon none,

To be deemed stunt.

Who art thou?

To cease my fuel,

Whilst I can run,

And perhaps, light thy fuel.

I pursue light,   

But I'm denied.

And in thirst,

I abide.

I seek some help,

Alas, I'm mocked.

I writhe in pain;

Hopelessly thinking:

Isn't light, my right...