Picture poetry


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Short Story 3

Mr. Deviant R.I.P Mr. Love, the butcher of Normal Street, renowned for his swift hands, slaughtered Mr. Deviant in the name of God. Mr. Deviant has travelled beyond the street, and was therefore a headache for all. He questioned the agents of God, sometimes the concept of God and always the existence of God. He was not supposed to be left to rot as the butcher believed that he will pollute the air and the sin of slaughter will be washed away when it is served as food.  The butcher gave the flesh to his lover, Ms. Kind, who owned a small restaurant in Normal Street. He told her that it was Mr. Deviant, and she asked “The devil’s son? People say that he got his name from the devil, is that true?” The butcher disagreed to that and said that he is not the devil’s son, but that he says  we were not made by God but we evolved from other animals. The butcher joked that Deviant might have been born from a monkey. Ms. Kind, due to her curious mind, asked, “He says he has travell...
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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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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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