Thursday, May 30, 2013

The One Night Stance

Silence, they call it, of what,
I may never know, and it won’t ever matter.
The strange custom before a storm, was stranger,
Today, as a guest in proceedings of war.
Blows becoming sodden expressions of a raging world around
Wounds an obvious affliction, memory the natural drug,
Indifference the natural cure.
All full of pity, and hate alike,
A casualty among living they name it,
As the victim was reason, slaughtered by some private treason.
A daft and blunt version, I say,
Of a mind corrupted by lack of reflection.
Let treason be the trigger,
But the shot was the devil’s sacred thought unleashed.
A victim of of reason, held up against pointless existence,
Being turning savage, for against what it was pitted.
The essence of laughter changing by day,
From an elated sense of victory,
Becoming a peace from ease of loss.
Slowly it and its breath choke on fumes, turning into,
My lone awareness to a fire that lives on me
When it leaves, will it leave me burnished or ash,
Is an unlucky man’s guess, and I’ll be making it for him,
But depart it will, I won’t let it stay,
For the love or blood of God, I say.
Faded illusions that passed in time,
Black faith in passiveness to back it,
The season past be a painful night
A nightmare of thoughts endured and endeared,
A wishful fall, a leap, a flight,
A belief abandoned a one night stance.

-Piyush Bhatti
2nd Year, Mech