Recollecting Fortress
In times when memories are collated in a safe place, a fortress of memories.
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I'll just wait for a while
While you drown in a sōliloquium of denial
Tucked away inside my fortress of memories
Walls of a vault crowded with vivid imagery
Soft, driven, harsh and mad, like some new language
I see a life, and it’s people, profoundly called bondage
Far away from materialistics
Like a deer
Prone to wound
For jests can be feigned for the living
A tiger, a bush, cloaking
You stay in my fortress, bolted
Victimise myself as I see it all manifested
Maybe I’ll just linger here for a while
Not to touch but to take, maybe it isn’t mine
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Uncertain times
As we face today (2020).
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Tragedy strikes in the land of the terrified
Someone knocked, in a weather too fair
Unknown guest, a resident, soul stood petrified
The walls have seen two souls and an heir
Furious, walking around a house rarely visited before
And days go by, stranded in rooms, impossible is the porch
Thoughts gather in time, maybe out of season
This time, unresolved pasts linger with conditioned reasons
Breaths feel like sardonic whispers in the halted air
Deaths are rising with panic infused boredom within confined layers
Idealistic thoughts can only so much help you foresee
Cloud'd, unc'rtain thoughts questioneth me, to be or not to be
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Tenants
What of the world we call our own, it never has been.
Welcome to a land of sparrows, sheep and snow leopards
We invite you to a holy place where we live and kill to procreate
They let us in sardonically into their sanctum, we the shepherds
We walk in to take over their kingdom divine as if it were desolate.
Strategise our advantage, let’s kill one another over disputes and heartache
We survive in a taken land, with pride and honour,
Over boundaries that never existed, slowly killing ourselves with hate
Story of a killer
An origin story for a character from Jim Morrison's poetry from the song The End
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A night of torment in his head, shattered dreams
They resist, not let him under the stars sit
Echoes through the house, door slams, he screams
Father had a no to give with no words for mother, brother’s n sister’s room lit
In the dark at night round, there was no light found
Unfound the ray of hope, unfound the light that gives
Father tried all, to help him let go, to pull him back down
He sat through looking out his window with light blue, face lit, thinking of all moments with pals he couldn’t live
Was it too cold at night before dawn or just feeling lone
Father hurt me, said no, said he
Felt his slacks tighten with books on his laps prone
Window too high to jump and flee
In that cold winter night with boots on his bedside
All he thought of was that fight that father arose and mother Just knows
Went to bed and couldn’t sleep he, yet slept frowned
For a morning unlit and dark that just flows
With memories of hallways and galleries
Slept on his bed decisive of his morning
Cross with father and mother gentle
His brother and sister lived in the house still
- Razi ul Hasnain
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall
He went into the room where his sister lived, and...then he
Paid a visit to his brother, and then he
He walked on down the hall, and
And he came to a door...and he looked inside
Father, yes son, I want to kill you
Mother...I want to...love you
-James Douglas Morrison
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Capturing A Blue Moon
How I framed the blue moon
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‘‘Twas an evening not too dull
A feeling so fulfilling, so null
Landscapes cover you all around
Thoughts provoking your head, thoughts profound
Take a walk by the path from your shelter
Seems winter, seems cold, is it winter?
Mile stretched to the mountain bliss
Returning with the same feeling, same mess
Conquering yourself in the terrain mountainous with no fears
Handpicked a location, scaled mountains, the Himalayas
Feeling fulfilling yet so null?
Became an evening, your evening dull
Turn to your brother, maybe to laugh at that goon
Turn back to an evening intended, an evening with the blue moon
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Tosh, Himachal Pradesh, India
Runaway Kingdom
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With violence and all those other feuds
When they are all that surround you
It is all just so glued
Hard for you to even walk nude
Talking becomes a waste of time
Even with the person who was sublime
And all that is on the very weary mind
Surrounded by the feuds and battles all the time
The memories are all just supposed to make sense
Of all the times that things were intense
Thinking about it all, it's your wrists that clench
Run back away is all that is left in the end
The walls that surround you with tunes so loud
You are just able to block away that crowd
Some food, music and not to forget a beer
Live alone and nothing left with fear
The quietness, bliss and the air so eerie
No cares, fights or the slightest of worry
It is your kingdom to rule alone and no one else nearly
Who treat thy kingdom with fraud, battle or worry
In the very kingdom you found
You walk some many rounds
Rounds that cover a mile or so on the ground
Yet you don't feel caged in the compound
Nobody to worry or care for the farts you leave everywhere
You feel the words getting lighter as your eyes get wider
Not as wide when you do something nasty in the shower
When you imagine a waiting lover while you wear your trouser
No food stolen from the kitchen so clean at night
Living alone, there is glory and much delight
Walking back to same old feuds and fights
How pointless it seems compared to a lone movie night
Nobody to worry about or concern
The dishes in the sink and the food undone
You should have done it, instead of the other fun
The blame is for you take with no place to run
You step away from all the feuds and fights now
Living alone is your whole new life now
All parties are yours to handle and take
Until the next morning when with regrets you wake or not to wake
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When Given Words
Weaving a story around (try?)
Infinite, Dreams, Laughter, Majesty, Age, Persistence, Passion, Poem, Winning, Fall
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Majestic and tall stood he in the winds gushing the northeast mile. The sun shines everyday atop his head in a forest of pine.
In the infinite dreams of his, he had embraced the consequences he was going to face. A soul full of passion no matter the age. Being still through all the seasons across, he won each time with poems of lumberjacks and their ways. He was persistent in his mindful abyss, as it breaks with a fall over the grassy floor. They cut him and chopped pieces his. It was then when it concluded that the lumberjacks had the last laugh as they warmed themselves over his wooden, ash-y remains lit.
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