Tag Archives: existential poetry

We are all dreaming the Same Fucking Dream

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Different lives, but the same hunger, the same corruption, and the same ending.

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

endless desires, with lust as the main theme

Born in the lap of fate, we aim to rise so high,

we laugh at each gain; on each misery we cry

Greed rules our hearts, neither love nor faith,

into the darkness we dwell, like a sniveling wreath

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

pursuits are the same, different they may seem

Our journeys start with ambition, blood, and sweat,

our baggage is so heavy, all remorse and just regret

Our birth is by chance, but our death is so sure,

we praise the lofty God with hearts so impure

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

gold, women, and land, we all hail, we all scream

Betrayals are abundant, and loyalty is so very rare,

blindly following the devil without any apparent care

It’s the sin that we seek and the virtue that we reject,

in the end, it’s just guilt; it’s all that we collect

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We are all dreaming the same fucking dream,

the purpose of life we forget, this we cannot redeem

That we have to hold hands, we have to serve others,

yet we kick the dog, ignoring that we are brothers

That we are all the same spirit, we are all part of God,

the system is all perfect, but the users are all flawed

The Kingdom without a King

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I have heard there is a place where broken hearts need no mending—and it waits for us all.

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I have heard there is a kingdom buried deep,

far away from this chaos and the mayhem

I have heard it can be found if your faith takes a leap,

but not by those who are hateful or who condemn

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I have heard that it is so peaceful down below,

silence is a tranquil lake with no dark murmurs

I have heard there is no ego there, high or low,

life is no longer a battle, no losers and no learners

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I have heard that there is comfort in its darkness,

no sudden challenge, or no opportunity to be won

I have heard there is just serenity, and no harshness,

there’s no curtain to be dropped, and your roles are done

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I have heard love is a wraith there, forgotten forever,

your broken heart needs no more solace, no mending

I have heard all are equal there, the fools and the clever,

the fire inside is all put out; it needs no more tending

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I have heard the kingdom is without a king,

the last refuge for all the tired and broken souls

I have heard the admission needs no magical ring,

you step across the threshold, and the drum rolls

Our Heaven is Here, Our Hell is Here

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What if heaven and hell aren’t places you go after death, but consequences you create with every action?

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For those who look up to the skies with searching eyes,

look all around us, our heaven is here, our hell is here

They are all liars, the holy ones with their beseeching cries,

they do not seek your salvation; they simply do not care

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When you smile with joy, seeing a lovely piece of art,

the beautiful flowers of heaven, you can indeed smell

When jealousy scars your soul and burns your pure heart,

you can feel the searing heat of the flames of your hell

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When you taste your lover’s kiss and her warm embrace,

the cool breeze of heaven surrounds your whole being

When betrayal murders your ego and brings you disgrace,

the fires of hell consume you without you ever seeing

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When you choose to be kind without any expectation,

the rain clouds from heaven drench you with humility

When you are selfish and within reach of damnation,

the serpent of guilt suffocates you with sheer hostility

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When you hold a tired hand much in need of your help,

your heart becomes heaven, filled with His affection

When you hit a dog without any care for his yelp,

the poisonous scorpion of Karma makes its own selection

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There may come an end, there may be a judgment day,

you may be judged by Him; He may be kind or merciful

But when you make a choice, you always have to pay,

you may create an ugly hell or a heaven so beautiful

Self-flagellation: The Last Highway out of Hell

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flagellation_by_mariapetrova_dd11d3u-fullview

This is not redemption—it is penance without absolution.

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He whips himself, he whips himself very hard,

his silent screams, hiding behind an ugly grimace

The cat-o’-nine-tails screams like a mad banshee,

the knots striking in a frenzy, a blood thirsty race

Each lash is a tribute, a homage to a specific memory,

a black hole in the whole black and vast space of life

Each stroke exposes a white pulsating nerve,

a silver snake writhing under a very sharp knife

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He hurts himself, he hurts himself so real bad,

drawing crimson patterns across his naked back

The skin breaks, and ruby drops appear one by one,

thickening, congealing, stinking, and turning black

The flow of blood sometimes turns into a rivulet,

drops transforming into streams, streams into creeks

Crimson spatters his bent shoulders and the spine,

tracing the paths of pain and the punishment it seeks

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He makes himself suffer; he suffers for very long,

feeling the whip slither within the stinking, thick slush

The skin is no more, his back is all but raw flesh,

but his overpowering regret, the whip fails to crush

‘Oh! Why do you punish, why do you hurt yourself?’

the Devil asks him with a mockingly soft sympathy

And God, He just turns his face away in disgust,

there is no place for him in His great hall of empathy

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‘I walk the path of pain, I have chosen it for myself,’

he answers and grips the whip firmly and caresses it

‘I penalize myself, I pass each judgment harshly,

I condemn myself; the fire of misery is always lit

Self-flagellation is my penance for sins so many or few,

it is a dark journey, and I have been travelling ever since

Self-flagellation is the last highway out of my own hell,

while my soul burns in agony, I remain the exiled prince’

No Need for Metamorphosis

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metamorphosis_by_crisvector_du8k4b-fullview

A meditation on futility, longing, and the ache of wanting what was never ours.

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No need for metamorphosis and change,

when the change won’t ever change the mind

Of all the shooters standing on the range,

people I love, both the hateful and the kind

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No use of running and panting with ambition,

when the path doesn’t really lead anywhere

I should only walk and with complete submission,

trudging down the dark lands of nowhere

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No need for dreaming of fragrant flowers,

when the vine is bound to wither one day

People only like to sit in high, mighty towers,

their love and affection, always held at bay

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No use of reaching for the shining stars,

when the stars aren’t really meant for me

What is not ours and will never be ours,

shape-shifting shadows, as I behold and see

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No need for claiming loyalty and true love,

when all the desperate pleas fall on deaf ears

Hearts filled with a poisonous, fuming brew,

eyes darkened with memories and fears