Chronicle of a Death Foretold

"Twenty Seven days you have to live"
Said the damned doctor no one gave hell
His words chafed my brain , boiled my blood
Twenty seven days ere the reaper cast his spell....

This mad mission of Rapine Slaughter
Shall I undertake with utmost pleasure,
For hardly anything to lose I have,
But great joy can I attain from this effort.

Twenty seven days I have to live,
Said the blackguard who visited tonight
At first my heart drank the depths of abyss,
But now , I am afloat, my heart is so light!

For all my life I have hardly lived,
Hardly Killed and hardly slaughtered,
Aye, now I shall, for days twenty seven,
A live man in a world dead and battered!

I have devised the grandest of schemes,
Great kegs of powder have I bought,
And next Sunday, when the parliament meets,
I shall blow to the sky the whole bloody lot!

Blood and gore shall rule that day,
But blood shall spill for a cause most pious,
For free the world shall I of these,
Satans guards of characters dubious!

So a happy death I have ensured for me,
Though than a month I have days three less,
Indeed , what a great joy it was to be told,
O! Shall I live ere death, the lord be blest!

An Empty Lament

I realize that it sounds more than just a bit didactic!!
But I WAS really frustrated when I wrote this poem sometime this summer.
Some editing aimed at smoothing up the poem done at the behest of SUNIL YESHWANT

Blood , lust, and hate drive me,
Drive me ruthlessly to the golden fleece,
Why, you will ask, is it that I am bitter,
For 'tis surely bitterness that stains this piece!

O, to that I have no answer firm,
But know this I do at this moment,
That never , no never shall I ever
Find an antidote to my soul's lament.

Is this poison really there, I ask,
And ask myself this often I do,
Or is it that all this pain dour,
Is not really there at this hour?

But , to that I shall retort most vehemently,
True, 'tis a lot of whining from me,
But then I ask you, are you not the same?
You know the answer, if honest you be!

For the world is but a mirthless phantasm,
Each man's world his very own,
We dont really see men around us,
'Tis a trick of the mind that makes us mourn!

I see the world through these eyes of mine,
Indeed, every man plays this game,
'Tis a strange world, we see our own,
And yet, in hate and love, all are the same!

And yet you will wonder, that what could be
Driving me ruthlessly to the golden fleece,
Wherefore is it that I am bitter,
For 'tis surely bitterness that stains this piece!

Morning Blues

Originally written on 25th april 06
Final form written on 28th april 06
Some unsolicited improvements (which was appreciated nevertheless) by SM MEESUM

I woke up today, twas a sunny morning,
Sunny, for all, but not indeed for me,
for aware I was, of the sudden occurence dark,
That it was I facing the world, not we.

You left me when I wanted you to stand by,
Be my crutch , bear my burdens great,
I was willing, yes willing to be yours,
But you cared not to be my mate.

And as I smell the perfume you left behind,
There is only one question that comes to my mind,
Blame it on my nature, tis a strange nature I have,
But why did you give hope, when you I could not bind

You broke my trust and hope and faith,
And all things that fools like me hold in honor,
And yet, there is only one thing I wish and pray,
That its just a bad dream, waiting to be over