The Miserable End of a Failed Hero

A brutal dialogue between a broken mortal and a mocking god.

_____________________

Receding deep into yourself, being enfolded in layers,

blanking out the chaos of complicated relationships

Tightly wrapped within a cocoon of your icy, cold self,

the harsh and cruel reality is the one and final eclipse

That is your nirvana, that is your long, torturous bliss,

that’s what’s written by fate, in all its useless scripts

_____________________

Your cocoon will hang forever - the dangling shell,

on a grey cracked wall, in the hall of eternal sadness

There it will hang, and you will squirm deep within,

away from the merry crowds, the throbbing madness

That will be your heaven, and that will be your hell,

both equally quiet, under the ever-ruling darkness

_____________________

When the bored God visits and knocks at the cocoon,

asking if you are still alive within the silent confines

You will scream from within, a long tormented wail,

‘I did what you asked me to do, I followed all the lines

I crushed my own ego, I buried it deep and still alive,

damning myself to patience, despite all the odd signs’

_____________________

And the God will laugh, He will laugh long and hard,

‘you pathetic asshole, you miserably crawling bastard

You tried to fight fate, but you failed to learn from life,

you were no crowned hero, you were merely a dastard

Now burn forever in your heaven, as it is also your hell,

self-torture is the only art you have really mastered’

Self-flagellation: The Last Highway out of Hell

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This is not redemption—it is penance without absolution.

________________________

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

________________________

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

________________________

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

________________________

‘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’

The Inevitability of Sorrow (Previosuly, Seeds of Happiness and Fruits of Sorrow)

What if happiness is only the beginning of sorrow?

____________________________

All those who cultivate seeds of happiness,

will one day surely, eat the bitter fruit of sorrow

It’s your destiny, and your legacy, my dear child,

just follow your past, don’t seek a new tomorrow

____________________________

All those who know how to love and how to care,

will one day surely meet a sad and lonely end

It’s bound to happen, oh please don’t weep or cry,

it’s not something broken that you can readily mend

____________________________

All those who dance, and who laugh clear and loud,

will one day surely shed the bitter tears of loss

It’s the rule, my friend, you can’t run and fight,

you always pay the price, you always bear the cross

_________________________

All those who forgive and carry no black grudge,

will one day mourn the loss of their own hearts

You can’t keep on giving, giving more and some more,

there’re always expectations, even when hope departs

____________________________

Those who plan and cater for all possible regrets,

will certainly be the most regretful of all in the end

Regrets are the fires that keep the memories warm,

without regrets, there’s only coldness, you can’t tend

When Love is the Last Illusion (Previously, the White Dove of Hope)

Condemned by fate, and mocked by hope, until one dangerous word appears – love.

_________________________

Oh, you sad children of a time so evil and dark,

you are all the product of undesirable circumstances.

Your love always went stale before it could spark,

though you availed all the emerging chances

_________________________

You were the anomaly in the grand scheme;

you should have been smothered when born

Sadly, the plan remained only a dream;

though conceived by the Devil with open scorn

_________________________

You knew while you grew, you had no roots;

you were the useless moss clinging to a boulder

You had no character, no faith, and no attributes,

yet the burdens of life, you carried on your shoulder

_________________________

But you all survived, and yet you go on living;

for what purpose, may I ask in all sincerity

When both fate and life are so unforgiving,

your sustained survival becomes a vulgarity

_________________________

Desist! I suggest, or surrender, I would advise;

nothing will help you persist or even grow

Throw the cards down; please be a little wise,

just cease all efforts and go with the flow

_________________________

What did you just say? Do I hear the word ‘love’?

Yes, perhaps, love is the only solace you may ever find

It is your golden butterfly, a beautiful white dove,

in a world filled with hatred, this word sounds so kind

_________________________

Go on then, caress its warmth while you can,

till the white dove forsakes and abandons you

You will be all done with life; there is no other plan,

nothing else over the horizon for you to view

درد کا آخری شہر

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درد کا آخری شہر

ہر امید، ہر خوشی سے

لاتعلق اور بےخبر

آس کی فضاء میں

لامکاں اور بےخطر

ساکت اور معلق ہے


Read more: درد کا آخری شہر

درد کا آخری شہر

زندگی کے امتحان

آزمائشوں کے درمیان

پچھتاووں تلے دبے

خواہشوں کے گورستان

تڑپتا اور سسکتا

کراہتا کھنڈر ہوتا

لا حاصل تمنا اور 

ناممکن تعبیر کے درمیان

درد کا آخری شہر

اک دور اندھیری وادی میں

ساکت اور معلق ہے


درد کا آخری شہر

جانے انجانے میں

بہت سوں کی پہچان ہے

کچھ درد کے محبوب ہیں

کچھ درد سے انجان ہیں

کچھ آگہی کے آگے

مجبور اور بےکس

کچھ مایوس اور نادان ہیں

کچھ قسمت کے ہاتھوں

لاچار اور بےبس

کچھ ڈرتے اور پریشان ہیں

کچھ کی درد ہی پہچان ہے


درد کا آخری شہر

اس کے سب دروازوں کے

سب کیواڑ مقفل ہیں

اس کے سب مکانوں کے

سب مکین مردہ ہیں

زندہ ہیں، سانس لیتے ہیں

لیکن مردہ ہیں

حسرتوں کے جنازے

قطار اندر قطار

تکمیل کے کندھوں کے

بے سود انتظار میں

پڑے سڑتے ہیں


درد کا آخری شہر

بس خاموش رہتا ہے

اس کے ہر مکین کی

تڑختی شریانوں کے

لامحدود جالوں میں

کرب کا دریا بہتا ہے

سیاہ گاڑھا خون

کالے پارے کی مانند

رینگتا اور الجھتا ہے

تاریک کناروں کے

سرد پتھروں پر سرسراتا ہے

لیکن خاموش رہتا ہے


درد کا آخری شہر

بہت دور صحیح لیکن

مل جاتا ہے

کوئی اونچی فصیل نہیں

کوئی واضح حد بھی نہیں

مگر پھر بھی

جب ڈھونڈا جائے

مل جاتا ہے

نظروں سے اوجھل ہے

لیکن دلوں کو مل جاتا ہے

ہر کارواں کو، ہر مسافر کو

مل جاتا ہے


درد کا آخری شہر

اس کی مہیب تاریکی میں

اک اکیلی روشنی

ٹمٹماتی ہے

جگمگاتی ہے، مسکراتی ہے

ہمدردی کا دیا جلتا ہے

غم گساری کی لو بھڑکتی ہے

ہر مکین کا دل ہے

دوجے کیلئے دھڑکتا ہے

درد کا آخری شہر اور

اس شہر کے سب باسیوں میں

درد مشترک ہے


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