Prime Location

Behold! A magnificent mountain on the horizon.

"Feel", said one of the party, "the glorious sun",
We shall settle here, grow old and prosper,
And, as was decreed, the city was peopled - all was done.

Eventually, Empires emerged and Others began to appear,
Heroic wars were fought, many died, much trouble,
All for a bit of land and a lone mountain standing there.
Death did not deter the intruders - no, their strength redoubled,
But peace reigned supreme, wrought with great care.

They came, first with pickaxes, and stripped it of it's pebbles,
Boulders were hauled, cliffs chiseled and a fort erected,
Manned by a carefully chosen set of warriors most capable,
But the best creation of Man is doomed to fail - and it did,
Ignorantly, He ploughs on, living in his own bubble,
It is a travesty of Nature, and I am to live here,
Rock by rock, everything's gone, all's left's rubble.

Innuendo

"Father Agnels licks Saint Mary's...in a basketball match". - Yours Truly.

Literature. Oh Literature. My Literature.
Dear Literature. Please Literature. Don't Literature.
For you, Literature. I will Literature. I do Literature.
Yes Literature. More Literature. That's it Literature.

Ook. Ook? Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook.
Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook! Ook? Ook? Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook. Ook.
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Ook! Ook. Ook. Ook? Ook. Ook? Ook. Ook. Ook! Ook. 

Radio Play

He shall, one day, overthrow the oppressive yoke of Pride,
And Dignity, slaughtered in the cobbled streets, you will find,
There I shall stand then, embarrassed,
with a rekindled zest for living.

WINGS on FIRE

On an unforgettable weekend of a forgotten week,
When the semester had reached it's give-up peak,
I returned from home and found
My wing had burned to the ground.

Now, fire is fine for fire's sake,
But booze-induced fires are a bit hard to take,
Especially when yours truly finds his room charred
And the wing indelibly scarred.

Piece by piece, I pieced together the tale
Of heroic deeds done after heavy ingestion of ale.
Not heroic really, some seniors (and batchmates quite tame)
Thought it would be fun to set the wing aflame.

The spark stoked spread soon, gaped the drunks foolhardy
(Lesson learnt : Do not feed a fire with Bacardi)
An army of sophies, at 3 a.m., from their sleep roused,
Bucket after bucket,

From the bathroom to the foyer,

The fire was doused.

All this happened in my sophie year,
Now it's the wing's legend, for all to hear,
Only recently upped by the 26K treat,
But thats another story, tell you the next time we meet.

Disturbed Thoughts

Often when I'm accosted by
A stranger with his tremulous sigh,
I feel an urge to knock him down,
But instead, meet him with a polite frown.

Often I've wondered about this quirk of mine,
How can a person who is otherwise sanguine
Look upon his brethren with no pity,
and later mask it with complete civility?

Often I've wandered about the city
Searching for a companion with inhumane humanity,
Flickers of scorn, glimpses of anger were shown,
That gave me hope that I wasn't alone.

It's then that I'm reminded of
a madman's anecdote - don't scoff;
For, it is representative of our shallow culture
and a true representation of human nature.

When charged with murdering six, and,
Harming three others, he frankly told 'em,
"I'm sorry, I did not intend to harm them,
I merely wanted to kill them."

How true! In this horribly civilised mess,
There is possibly only one way to destress,
For, it is only when man stoops to the level of a beast
that the pressures of being a man cease.

A Sense of Poverty

Out on the road, I met a beggar,
Poorest of poor was he,
Pitying him I slipped across
A coin of fair pedigree.

He pocketed the money with a thankless smile,
And shuffled away from me,
Not content with his gratitude, I
Transfixed him with my oratory.

For hours, I expounded to him
On the virtues of Industry
And chastised him for embracing
The vice of Poverty.

He smiled and led me to a slum,
The stench of sewers hung unbearably,
He pointed out his grandchildren
Who were playing in the mud peaceably.

"Observe, sir, the merits of my vice,
Happier they are than we,
This monstrous world has tainted them not,
Innocence will keep them free."

What right have you, sir, to
Deny us our own small happinesses?

"You, sir , with your frantic shuttling
Are entrapped in a vicious puppetry,
And not content with ruining your peace,
You thrust it upon the impoverished free."

What right have you, sir, to
Deny us our little contentments?

He was getting worked up now,
I tried getting away quietly,
He caught my hand and thrust my nickel
Roughly back at me.

"I thank 'ee sir for you kindness,
But I'd rather not take your money,
I may be poor, sir, I may be weak,
But I still have some dignity."

What right have you, I ask, to
Deny us our dignity?

With that, he turned and
shuffled uglyly awaye,
And I was left with a sense of poverty,
The Nickel- I threw it awaye.

A Dozen White Roses

"Someone gets excited in a chapel yard and catches a bouquet,
Nonetheless, there's a dozen white roses on the grave."
Audioslave - Be Yourself.

Tap on the window, Knock on the door,

Try the door now, the lock - it is secure.

The door is forced open, Oh! Her limp figure!

An angelic grace, but the noose does not flatter.

.

He crept up behind her, a bundle of expectation,

A second's embarrassment, he popped the question,

All the world and his wife be damned!

His beloved had laughed and accepted his hand.

.

Tears stream down her face, "Oh! He will pay!"

She mops her brow, and frantically scribbles away,

This love, it has spent her, She's weak now,

and He! He does not care for her anyhow.

.

The father of the bride was seated now

waiting for the ceremony's final bow,

Never in his life had he shed a tear,

But Joy can what Regret can't nor Fear.

.

"Strange are love's ways", she wonders,

"Must I pay with my life for one blunder?"

"No, the man I love is no barbarian,

I must not mar his heaven."

.

A dozen white roses are becoming on the bride,

A dozen white roses, great regrets it can hide,

And if in life it be happiness you crave,

A dozen white roses lie beckoning you to your grave.

SMSese

SMSese

I watch the world around me with a slight unease
The wind blows, but it isn't the good old breeze,
I wonder, as I fall on my knees,
Did the Devil finally this earth seize,
Our worthless minds too easy to please,
My brows, with intense thought, crease,
My lips, with a cold dread, freeze,
My Eye, oh unseeing Eye, no longer sees,
I have no share of my past expertise,
I whisper a dead man's pleas,
Beware of this unholy sleaze.
(Of greater danger to humanity than cheese :P)

I watch the world around me with a slight unease,
I am helpless against the onslaught of this disease,
Yet, I say, I shall not descend to SMSese.

WELCOME

WELCOME

So speaks Balathusrus, of the Elven race.

‘Gather around, friend, for long-forgotten tales
of glory, of valour, splendour and war,
of deeds outrageous, of the might of mages,
of elf, of man and of dwarf,
of peace and strife, order and turmoil,
of cities as great as Hirrengard,
of orcs, of wargs, of trolls,
of dragons and serpents and all.’

Ballad of a Steward

The Last Good Lord

A long time, when the Sun poured fire
And the Moon vent her ire, ago,
The people of N’Ruk believed ‘twas their luck
That they lived so,
For, every dawn heard the battle-cry
Strong awaken the sleeping soldier,
And, he jumped up, his heart leapt up
To join the battle for a treasure.
Women, afraid to roam the streets
Watched the Stronghold besieged.
Thousands and thousands of heads did fall
Unrelenting at the walls till the treasure was siezed.

The steward did stomp, his brow he did mop
As the battle and day wore on.
Then, decided, he went to the yard
To call the Lord’s mighty swan;

/* Excerpts from ‘The Lord’s Swan’ */

Neither Sun’s light nor sword’s fight
Could rival the white Swan’s might.
The beluagured guard, glimpsing the
Light, did with renewed vigour fight. *//

The gloom in the air in the battlefield at first
Did deter the Swan’s passage.
But neither arrow nor spear could slow
The Swan, nor could a mortal’s rage.

Over meadow and battle it did fly,
Over hill, hillock and mound,
Northwards and east, beyond Mirkwood’s
Reach, to where it’s Lord could be found.

Three days it was since the Lord’s steed’s
Leave, and the steward of N’Ruk did worry,
Wonder he did as each defence crumbled,
Whether the treasure deserved the glory.

The ravens of South, retreating North
Shot by Orcs did say
“The Death King approaches,
The Axe of Chaos will slay if you stay.”

The day next, when the merciless sun
Was at it’s peak, all a sudden,
The fire stopped it’s shine, the sky was
Black with a million bats’ burden.
The outpost overlooking R’Len reported
An approaching Company of Wargs,
While a fresh army was on it’s way
From Gundabad – Land of Orcs.
Advisors to N’Ruk counseled in vain
For the steward to surrender,
For, to strike the Orcs and elude
Balkoth, chances were slender.
Towards evening, the North outpost
Reported an army of the Necromancer,
Trolls, goblins and the scum of
Mirkwood had crossed the Red river.
The steward then declared, “I, Balathusrus
Have not protected that which was the Lord’s
With bowed head and shamed heart, I depart
To the wilderness beyond the River Guards.”
Action suited word, the steward’s horse
Bore him to the North and West,
N’Ruk, without a leader, lay bare,
It was Balkoth’s greatest conquest.

Thirty days since the Lord’s steed’s leave,
Balkoth’s rams rammed away.
For a day and half, the door of N’Ruk
Roared and croaked until it gave way.
But even as the sun reluctantly rose
To shed light on a new day,
Darkness reigned and the earth cracked,
The Axe of Chaos had come to slay.
An ugly roar split the air,
And above the roar spoke the voice of Death.

/* Excerpts from ‘Dark Songs and Riddles’ */

“Ah! So you think you can defeat
my strongest Orc’s fastest steed?
You have taken what was mine,
Now I’m the shiver down your spine,
To stalk you, hurt you and strike unexpected
Till you relinquish it, O ill-fated!

In two days, twice shall my war-horn blow
And after, a river of blood shall flow
To quench the thirst of a world that sees
A thousand years of splendour and peace.” *//

In two days, twice did the war-horn blow,
And on the third, the Nazgul reared it’s head,
Balkoth entered the city and the last inhabitant
Of N’Ruk was struck dead.
Orcs and Trolls, Goblins and Wargs looted N’Ruk,
While Balkoth and the Necromancer debated,
The horrors of the day made the cloud dark,
Afraid, the howling of the air abated.
Yet, as the black sun set to give night her way,
A prick of light stood rooted
Against the black and dark sky,
Even as Orcs mirthfull shouted.

/* Excerpts from ‘Dark Songs and Riddles’ */

The orcs mirthfully shouted,
“The greatest city is rot by us,
Might man is slain by us,
Now the knave run and hide,
We are Death’s harbinger.”

Wargs of R’Len joined in chorus,
“A howl in the dark, roar in the light,
Feast on strife and strike with fear.
Take our lives and give us Death,
To our foes, we shall do likewise.”

The goblins of Mirkwood smiled and said,
“Long hours we prowl in the shade
of Mirkwood, gloomy, obscured, bedimmed,
clutching a streak, nay a beam of ‘Dark’
to kill our foe before he dies.”

They all then sang together,
“Yet, there is one who rots cities,
slays everyone and brings Death.
Howls in the night, roars in the light,
Feasts on a fight and takes our lives.
He is strongest in gloom, holding
A spell that kills us before we die.
We shiver and chatter when he draws near,
For, he is the omnipresent Fear.
Yet, there is one whom Fear fears,
Despises beyond hate and wrath,
And that is our Lord, the son of Death,
The great Dark Elf, Balkoth.” *//

Amidst the song and merriment, the sun
Unnoticed, rose to full light.
Some, who saw it, were perplexed,
For the sun had risen in the mid of night.
Glee and wonder gave way to fear
As the Lord on the Swan came near,
The Lord of N’Ruk the Lord of Life,
The Lord of the one true treasure.
In a frenzy of light and sound,
The Lord said unto Balkoth,
“You want the elfstone, forget it,
You follow the Death God, forget the path,
You believe the Necromancer, forget him,
And I will treat you my own.

But, if you stay firm and believe
That dog, prepare to reap the wrath you’ve sown.

‘Orcs and Trolls, Goblins and Wargs,
relish my spell of Immolation.’
Said the Lord, invoking the Life mage
Illanwyll to cast the incantation.

Multitudes of the dark forces fell
To the ground, while some brave fellows
Stood and saw their blood ooze
And produce the Red Summer’s Fallows.