Author: psk16.pk@gmail.com

I have left the race,
Now that the finish line is near,
Another track beckons me,
It’s my hooves you see,
Urging, urging, on each step endlessly,
Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop, clip clop;
Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

They smile no longer as they used to
These eyes I mean
Those lips have dried long ago
Fallen far away
Into a different world, a different time,
When not all darkness was black, and not all brightness was white,
A different world, a different time.

They no longer see as they used to
These hands I mean
Those eyes have closed long ago
Tears set them free,
And now all they feel is the roughness of life
Sunlight as sandpaper,
Moonbeams, as knife.

They no longer live as they used to,
The dead I mean
Forever in motion
Reaching nowhere at all,
And now all they wish is the cause of quietness
Which they fear if ever,
One may hear, after all.

I talk of towns that do not exist,
I write of days I could not resist,
Far too failures,
I carry along
Who would sing it
If no one remembers the song.

I pledged to be a parrot,
Not long ago to this day,
To be a sword in someone’s hand, to be shoes under another’s feet,
To walk when told to walk, to run when told to retreat,
Nothing comes of bravery, if in facing fear we see the failure of others.

Are we so void,
That only after devouring the world’s very bones can we be sated,
If so then know,
This is a massacre and not a banquet,
And your soul as all souls shall one day decay,
Into the aftertaste you now cherish.

The mountains I see now,
Cleaving the sky,
Why do they weep,
Oh why do they weep?
Were these stones now holding the roots of earth, once men of love, laughter and guile,
Are these flowers kissing the sunlight’s skin;
Children, stilled to never smile,
Will the rain in her pain answer,
Will the wind in her wails find,
Have we lost our will to live,
Or at last do know our mind.

This is a cause to cry.

“If I set you free,
You shall see,
The world that is,
Devoid of me,
And then the more you pray,
The less I will say,
For you have chosen a path,
Which is not my way”

This story tells of a hypocrite,
Not much to lose, too much to fight,
For ways never given away
Free, for us to be at ease,
And burn the flags upon these ships
That hoards, and onboard sets us free,
Free to eat the salt, free to drink the sea,
To meet our homeless families
In far kingdoms we will never see
Anchored away to bones of past
On this journey we would never last
And the shores, in the end would find
Us as mannequins without a mind
And the tears shall speak it’s fall:
We had found something but lost it all;
For the price of priceless memory
We sold our will to slavery
For the price of priceless memory
We sold our will to slavery…

I awake to another moon,
When beauty slips,
Underneath,
The grey haze,
Parted by fire,
Of your lips, and the poison,
That draws out,
My mind,
Deep into the forest,
Of charred oaks, and opaline streams
Near flowers purple,
Where you smile, as a shadow,
Soft in it’s sweater,
Forever unseen,
Now, forever unseen.

Answer me, Icarus.
Was it hubris that failed your wings,
That fateful day of long,
And let free such anguished wails,
That every bard held it’s echo for a song,
“Behold here, tis where Icarus fell,
Alone, as a sliver of star,
Who aimed for the sun one day,
But never reached even half so far.”

Answer me, Icarus,
What did you try to seek in the sun,
Was it one color, a different light,
Or desire to quietly burn,
To fall far off into the sea,
And flower somewhere deep,
And witness the layers of life;
As a man as awake as asleep.

Of all the world’s fair faces,
I envy your lifeless, smiling chrysalis,
For it’s cold, sapphire sight, searing far into the night,
Like dry forest afire,
Whose ash on your wan lips,
Is as good as tears in rain;
Void and false of pain,
Whilst your hair, long, unbound,
Waves as sea without the sound,
And for every breath you take,
Spits blood, bone and bile,
And stay stained the age old smile,
Of the victor’s fate and untamed pride,
Death’s glory: this last ride,
For which, even the heroes cried,
For which the Gods too died.

The love that a young man grow,
The old can’t see,
The rest don’t know,
And so it lays,
Willful and vague,
Maimed to fall,
Mirrored to beg,
With the rest of them,
Who failed at heart,
And are trapped in pieces,
Miles apart,
In the land of chains, where dreams are naive,
And freedom’s a privilege; for being a slave.

O me, O mine,
O whorls of intended illusion,
O hurried words of last line,
What curse has laid my land to woe,
What seeds doth, these blind eyes sow
To what end, to what end,
Must a hopeful heart vie,
For all the horrors I have unseen everyday,
Do I weep in late pity, or laugh till I die.

Behold, these smithereens,
Boastful proses,
Once mighty and meaningful,
Now charred, and beaten,
Now trapped in time,
No more holding limbs of truth, supple and strong
But mumbling; like thunder from some distant land,
The feeble fallacies of fallen men,
No longer alive to question the answer unexplained,
What hand doth the wordless worship seek, now
In the acts hidden in hallways quiet,
Where all who walk,
In silence steal,
The shadow that shapes the fall of light.

You of vision; low and long,
Where mindless things on mercy sleeps
To ends unassumed, and unaccounted,
This path leads but never last,
For a moment’s present comes to still as a forever past,
And before all,
The abyss shall enter us,
And I have no strength to make it through,
Without breaking into thousand seashells disguised as bones,
Each bartered for flesh, when I felt too alone,
In this heathen world of heretics,
In this epic of serrated life.

Would the end come crawling,
Or blazing bright,
Would it feel as feather,
Or a black asp’s bite,
Would I know,
Shall I dare to dream;
A silent solace,
A painful scream,
Or go unanswered,
Like all before me,
Who turned to peek,
And ceased to see…