Picture poetry


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Immoral Beings

Immoral Beings Why has God given us eyes? To see good things. Why has God given us ears? To hear good things. Why has God given us brain? To think good things. Why is it so? Because it is given by God? No. No. Definitely not. The ones whose livelihood is God, Needs us to not to see, hear, and think Beyond what secures the concept, God, As it will make their treasury shrink. The eyes, ears and brains, given by God Won't see beyond. We HAVE eyes to see, We HAVE ears to hear, We HAVE brain to think, Both good and bad. Only then we can rebel, Rebel against the circus trainer Who cages us to perform for his gain In this giant circus tent.
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Trust

Trust Dear Dearest, You asked me whether I trust you completely. Baby I can’t say that I trust you. I don’t trust anyone, for trust is a belief. And I don’t believe blindly. And if I say that I trust you for a reason, how can that be a trust, it is actually a realisation. That doesn’t mean that I don’t take chances. I do take chances. But I don’t ignore the other possibility. May be that’s why I am always anxious. I don’t believe that you love me. I understand that you do. That doesn’t hinder you from leaving me if I become bad or incompatible. Or at least I know that it shouldn’t. I understand that you had been on my side on many occasions when I needed you and when I needed someone. I also understand that sometimes I was on my own. But you are one among the people go to when I am troubled by something. So, I don’t believe that you love me, I know that you do at this moment. That is the foundation on which our love is built. Thus, this relationship will go on until we stop feel...
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The Illusionist

The Illusionist Dwelling in the tangled labyrinth is the rover, In the realm of time and space an eternal wanderer, The inventor of innumerable creators, Having the shape of their creators And codes of life, mutable always, Suiting the beastly humane ways. Where the hell is the hell? In the abyss like well with corpses' smell Or the complex nerve cell Where all evils dwell. To once reach heaven Never do those seven. The heaven and those seven, Mere cookies baked in his oven. How did the imaginary lines that divide Relatives, contingent on where they abide And twenty-four and sixty slices Of the earth's spin come to life? After this grand illusion He too started living in delusion.
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