Tag Archives: poem

The King Who Wears a Crown of Frost

Posted in Poetry English by

Introduction

A haunting contemplative poem exploring the universal human experience of loss and its profound impact on our existence. Through vivid imagery of a mythical King who rules over all lost things from his frost-crowned throne, this introspective piece examines how loss shapes identity and the hidden wisdom that emerges from pain. The poem delves into existential questions about where lost loves, dreams, and parts of ourselves go, creating a powerful metaphor of an island kingdom built from collective human grief. A thought-provoking exploration of sorrow’s transformative power and the bitter fruit of understanding that grows from life’s inevitable losses.

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So many things are lost, almost every day;

a child may lose a toy, or an adult, his heart

We may misplace ourselves if we go astray;

if our choices in love are not very smart

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We lose what we love, what we hold dear;

we lose what we hate, what we so despise

No criteria - we may lose a smile or a tear;

we may lose our madness or what makes us wise

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We lose so much; our lives are tainted by loss;

wretched beings with their backs all stooped

We lose so much, we are defined by our loss;

garlands of failure, our tragedies all looped

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Where do all these lost things go, once gone?

This is the very thought that makes me curious

Do they cease to exist beyond their last dawn?

Do they become shadows, silent yet furious?

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Perhaps there is a dark island, far, far away;

filled with deep sorrow, it is eternally cursed

A sea of knowledge, all silent and grey;

pulsing with regret, an unquenched thirst

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On that island, there is a colossal hall of grief;

therein weeps a King, wearing his crown of frost

His legacy is so vast, and yet he fears no thief;

his, is the treasure of all that has ever been lost

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He laments not the loss, yet his tears are true;

he mourns the tragedy of loss, dying in vain

Loss is a tree that bears fruit, if only we knew;

the fruit of wisdom, rotten and bitter with pain

The Prophet and the Devil

Posted in Poetry English by

Introduction

A haunting narrative poem exploring the eternal struggle between light and darkness within the human soul. This introspective piece delves into themes of moral duality, spiritual conflict, and the coexistence of prophet and devil in one person. Through vivid imagery of pain, redemption, and self-reflection, the poem examines how opposing forces of kindness and temptation shape our existence. Perfect for readers seeking deep philosophical poetry about human nature, internal battles, and the complex relationship between good and evil that defines the human experience.

Constantly walking down a dark alley of pain,

a cold path, leading to no loss and no real gain

He walks alone; he has always been walking alone,

each step is an agony, but he doesn’t groan or moan

He stops for a moment to take a tired breath;

thinking of his sad existence and a pitiful death

He sees a man sitting and leaning forward,

he doesn’t move, his posture so awkward

Brains blown out, there is silence in the hall,

no commotion, just blood splashed on the wall

His dead eyes, motionless, clouded and sallow,

that man is him, a life so deep and a death so shallow

Who were you really? He asks the dead man,

What did you really want? What was your clan?

Pulls onto his own hair matted with blood and brain,

he sees himself smile, though in actual he is slain

I was the product of imagination, the darkest of them all,

pain, sorrow, and suffering, an amalgamation of them all

Slowly cooked and roasted upon the fire of circumstances,

I took every risk and I availed all the chances

I hung myself all through my life, on the cross of desire,

my guilt and my regrets, lighting a damn big fire

My body laughed so hard, while my soul slowly bled,

the nails of remorse drawing blood, dark and red

I wore the crown of pleasure, dancing the dance of senses,

each conquest was glory, no qualms, no mending fences

But it was a crown of thorns, my soul writhed in pain,

and on the cross of desire, my character was finally slain

I was a prophet, I was the devil, the contrast burnt so bright,

the devil on the left always, and the prophet on the right

Kindness was the prophet’s domain; he ruled it so well,

sensuality was the devil’s game; he played it in hell

The prophet held hands and fanned the flames of life,

the devil played his flute and sharpened his sinful knife

The prophet bowed in humility, acknowledging his bounds,

the devil laughed in shadows and made his daily rounds

They were opposite in nature, but they shared a core,

crying over a broken heart, weeping for a whore

But when tired of crying, they both walked the earth,

in search of some joy, in search of some mirth

The devil broke some hearts, the prophet mended souls,

the devil stole some dreams, the prophet filled some holes

The devil caused some chaos, the prophet preached some order,

but the prophet stayed behind, while the devil crossed the border

Then they both sat together and wept and cried some more,

the prophet on his throne and the devil on the floor

The prophet told the devil that they had different fates,

the devil smiled and offered, ‘No, we are soul mates’

The dead fell silent and chose to speak no more,

he only thought in silence, shaken to the core

There was a dichotomy, though he always knew,

that it was no stark, he had no clue

He was two, not one, that was the only fact,

the prophet and the devil, it was a strange pact

He looked ahead and started to walk again,

the prophet and the devil, in the dark alley of pain

The Boat that was Doomed Forever

Posted in Poetry English by

There was once a very small boat;

made of polished, dark mahogany

It had to keep itself forever afloat;

its habits were a strange homogony

The boat being very small and petty;

it didn’t matter in His design at all

But its fate was written in the jetty;

in a few sentences, dark and small

‘You are hereby destined, you old one;

ordained to sail to non-existent shores

No other options or choices are none;

all the other paths end on locked doors’

‘Read these words, for it is your fate;

eternally destined to bet on lost causes

Do take it from me and do take it straight;

there is only anguish and no applauses’

The boat surely didn’t want this fate;

but life was cursed and forever doomed

Distress was certain and was never late;

the horn of frustration forever boomed 

Still, the old boat didn’t lose hope;

and started each journey with faith

Braving the waves, no anchor or rope;

a lonesome ghost, a silent wraith

There were storms and hard rain;

the boat did not care and moved on

There was damage and even pain;

the boat always waited for the dawn

Sometimes it saw lights and visions;

smiling with hope, it rowed on

But those were all bitter delusions;

the visions, what its fancy had drawn

Sometimes, it heard joyous laughter;

with a hopeful heart, it shouted ‘ahoy!’

Trying to chase the voices, it went after;

but found only silence, no mirth, no joy

Well, that was the life of this poor boat;

the lonely boat that was doomed forever

This was all - the life of this boat;

all the same were the days, whatsoever

The boat is tired, its wood has all but rotten;

there are several leaks, it’s  bound to sink

The dreams of glory, all forgotten;

the end is near, it has reached the brink

But the boat rows on, for it has a purpose;

it’s destined to live on, it’s meant to serve

The heart is tired, exhausting is the circus;

no time to lay anchor, no sense to lose nerve

You and Me – Human and Selfish

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Each of us - you and me and even us all;

we walk and run, and sometimes we crawl

We laugh and shout, and we love and hate;

our feelings make our ego, a great big wall

Each of us hides within a giant black hole;

hungry enough to devour our very human soul

It’s our heaviest burden that we must carry;

life is the theatre, and it is our abhorrent role

Each of us floats along a dark river of pain;

winding through the valleys of loss and of gain

Our longest journey from birth till our death;

our miserable life – grey and filled with rain

Each of us is addicted to the drug of pleasure;

a sudden rush surging - no limit and no measure

This is our downfall and our biggest dilemma;

regret is the poison; there is no hidden treasure

Each of us is different, despite being the same;

yet we hate and we fight for name and fame

This is why we fail to grow, this is why we lose;

admitting weaknesses, a prospect filled with shame

All of us are one, yet we choose to tread alone;

fighting like rabid dogs when life throws a bone

This is the grand sin; this is why we are doomed;

we fail to hold hands, we always act for our own