PAGANISM IS ROOT.................

So many trials, but none was worth,

To abolish pagans from the face of earth.

We, the pagans, the civilians of the planet,

Devoured attacks from so called prophets, priests and senates.

Every attack weakened this communus,

Took a chunk of strength from us.

Attackers grew stronger and powerful,

Pagans became tattered and rag-full.

Funny beliefs were imposed on us, without dignity,

Forcing us to believe in a single almighty,

Who can neither be seen, not even as small as hair,

Nor can be felt, not even as light as air.

Yet he became most praised and powerful,

And acknowledging nurturing nature was announced sinful.

Attacks targeted the natural gods,

Condemning them, for the sake of single unknown sod.

One self-claimed to be the messenger of almighty

Created a new religion and a new name for the single deity.

Cleaver as the fox, he claimed to be the last messenger from god.

And killed anyone, who doesn’t believe in his word.

Other made to claim the title, “Offspring of lord”

Simple prophet was turned into the son of god.

People of power, edited the history,

And presented the holy book as a mystery.

Today as I look back on shelf,

To see what has retained itself.

I am surprised to find,

Paganism stand without modifications from any mind.

Laughing I try to believe the unbelievable,

Truth and harmony only in religion crippled and made feeble.

Further analyses made me jump a foot,

Result:- EVERY RELIGION HAS PAGANISM AS ITS ROOT.

No Title...(its crap)

Here I stand,

Wounded is my hand.

Hard, cold metal biting my palm,

Blood oozing from its inner realm.

Pain asks me let it go.

But victory stands forth, I know.

This cold metal pulls me with might,

If I relax, I am washed in the tide.

I need to hold.

I need to stand.

Pain is immense

Mighty pull force, jerks my defense.

I can’t get pulled or let go.

Both ways it’s the victory of my foe.

I need to hold the ground.

Be firm and keep the metal bound.

Victory is just moments away,

Then I shall tell whose the boss anyway.

A loud command, “TYSON…. NOOO!!!”.

& victory reeled in with all its glow.

Rain..

Look at the pouring beads,

Feel the drench of solid pearls,

Smell the wet mud and water flow,

Hear the sound of breaking drops as they sow.

If it gives you pleasure,

Rest at leisure.

Work can be done laters,

Lie down and forget all matters.

Work happens round the year,

Wait till the sky clear.

It doesn’t rain everyday,

And rarely feels like this anyway.

So lay down and relax.

Let the water hit you in face,

Forget your hand’s reflex.

Feel good? As you let your mind race…

Where did it take you?

What can you see?

Is there someone special?

Or are you still with me?

You dint respond,

That’s a sign for me.

I got it, you are busy,

And I should flee.

She Walks...

With heaven above and hell below,

She walks on rope at a pace slow.

Hanging on pendulum of life’s clock,

She swings, to and fro off the block.

I wish she could land,

And walk on sand.

But she likes to fly,

Fluttering in oblivion with open eye.

Deep into the ocean of darkness,

And far into the lands of nothingness.

High above the clouds of obsession,

She walks on rope, out of marauder’s possession.

Down with the head cold,

She walks at the grace from her heart of gold.

Pitch black darkness in the room of thought,

Lethargic heart, beating for reasons unsought.

Lying in peace, with no reasons to appease,

A sleeping beauty or a lady with disease???

A coma struck her brain, her life,

Yet she walks with her heart on strife.

Matter of an opinion!!!

Every where I see,
Difference in opinion of people free.
Everyone holds their choices,
Free world grants them rights to raise their voices.


Voices are raised,
Opinions expressed.
Comments heard,
Points accepted.


Conflicts arise,
Debated on.
One man’s opinion,
Objected to by another one.


Soon the crowd joins in,
Heated words rattling as empty tin.
Mob rising from sincere crowd,
Orthodox people, renaming frustration as “being proud”.


Fight goes on and on,
Morons fighting, under ego’s tone.
Add religion and watch the show,
Politicians delightfully build vote-banks from such a row.


Left finds reasons to criticize right,
Ruling right blames left for the fight.
Political blame games go on high,
Media reports riots with fake sigh.


Buses burnt, strikes called.
People die, curfew settled.
Riots finished, matter unsolved.
Opinions stay but the war is cold.


Family’s dead, shops looted, homes ragged, vehicles flashed,
Citizens are the sufferers with feelings gashed.
But politicians love to take advantage,
Salt the gash with sabotage.


I wonder at the innocence of people,
Or should I say stupidity of suckers with nipples.
Indian citizens are getting literate,
Yet they follow and pacify words of politicians and jerks illiterate.


Indians are all sheep walkers,
Push one and find the followers.
The right to freedom of speech,
Abused properly with this siege.


I feel pity for the fellow Indians,
Wish them sense to realize and develop personal opinions.
I wish them to understand the diversity,
To follow or discuss opinions in prosperity.

She Walks!!!

With heaven above and hell below,
She walks on rope at a pace slow.
Hanging on pendulum of life’s clock,
She swings, to and fro off the block.


I wish she could land,
And walk on sand.
But she likes to fly,
Fluttering in oblivion with open eye.


Deep into the ocean of darkness,
And far into the lands of nothingness.
High above the clouds of obsession,
She walks on rope, out of marauder’s possession.


Down with the head cold,
She walks at the grace from her heart of gold.
Pitch black darkness in the room of thought,
Lethargic heart, beating for reasons unsought.


Lying in peace, with no reasons to appease,
A sleeping beauty or a lady with disease???
A coma struck her brain, her life,
Yet she walks with her heart on strife.