Knight in Rusted Armour

Stands stooped the knight
Adorned by the faintness of darkness
Covered by the mist of silhouette
And the gleam of golden dust. 

The next daybreak stands far away
And what lies ahead is the deception of dawn
Shadows cast from the vantage of clouds
Revealing the scars of the untold wars. 

Riding upon the moonbeams of agony
His sword had bathed times to a halt
His eyes being the shining glory
Of dreams that are seldom bought

Through the forests he strode
His fears riding his feats of glory
His triumphs leading his way to ditches
With his legends of unwritten stories. 

Whenever he stopped and rested his body
Bereavement was bestowed upon his kins of spear
Where his mind would scamper off to fields
Where truth was but an ally of fear. 

There he stood, lifeless and in pain
His agonies chiseled on to the horse he rode
The armour dropped loose from its lock
Rusted not by age but by faintness of war.

The Purpose of Lucifer

Hello world, I am god.
On Earth, I had the dream to create life.

I am the one who painted green.
First, I weaved grass – they served a purpose.
They held onto the skin of my Earth.
Then chiselled trees with a different purpose.
I gave them fruit, knowing that someday
The fruits would serve some greater cause.

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You Had A Hand On Me

Takes but a drop of outward thought –
In a bit to comprehend the simplicity of such a soul.
Those notes still ring;
The voice that made me feel at home.

Bosom friendship from a soul so great,
Naughty winks from the eyes of depth,
Witty smirks in as a way to cheer –
I have seen them all and have no despair.

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Hapless Gemini

And when you come ‘down’,
To my city of amorous joys.

Amidst a social chaos in a plethora of faiths,
Fantasizing and prostituting religion,
Loud vociferation of hypocrite secularism
And to sum it all: “a diverse culture!”

Amidst constituted vindictive politics
Unaccounted powers, vested by unaccounted population;
Where every ballot is a dramatized guillotine –
In the world’s most comprehensive constitution.

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Tyranny in Soothe Beauty

Enlightened, the man begins. Begins with an eclipse. Eclipse not of the lesser light, but the light of the lesser man.

And it was seen through by many, visible, yet not seen to.
The colours of that blotch of light become apparent to the enlightened many,
Where shades are branded by taste of prejudice and craft of meticulation.

How will those laureates associate this frame?
Or will they again politicize it to keep it one of those transient oddity,
That is so cleverly inexplicable to the expectant men?
Who under the banner of a local NGO,
Assemble the outcastes to outcry their universal red.
And strangely then,
Curse the bank for unavailibility of different groups!

Since they cannot lift up that ‘thing-who-must-not-be-named,’
For they know what must not be made known,
The mystery down the rabbit hole,
To curb the genre following the widow of Solomon Bandaranaike
And daughter of Zulfikar Ali.
The very couple men and manly, become oxymoron.

Ironical though when the cult strips in front of her nanogamical bed-warmer,
With the light that is stoopingly seen.
Clouds still remain a veil for the taboo.

PS: I apologize to the victim, if any sensitive inscription I stated above, has hurt any sinsere sentiment. And unending regards to that person who considers, in his own lucid way, that “moon had always been of special interest to me!”


p align=”center”>© Shamasis Bhattacharya (Twentyone Innovations)