The Fortunes of Lohan Gray

Sundays are generally good - for the regular people at least, or that is what I keep assuring myself. Sundays for me on the other hand are a little better than natural disasters. No deaths, I promise you that, but, still bad. Today was similar, just another regular Sunday in my life. It started with a dream, the damsel singing in her lustrous voice, soothing it may seem, and I was drawn closer to it. The only difference being, the closer I drew, the voice turned more and more repulsive. The voice which had the sweetness of honey in it, had slowly and steadily transformed into the death scream of a hog. I held onto my sleep. But a human I am, I equally dislike the squeak of a dying pig. It was my landlord. The usual banter about the late rent. Soon he would be followed by my debtors, who like clockwork would shower their gracious abuses one after the other, and I like an automaton would repeat the pre-programmed words of apology and hopefulness. Next week was a tempting mistress. She was always there, only a little high maintenance, and I, a guy in debt, could never afford her. After I had endured all the abuses, and after all the hopeful lies, the day chose to end on me. The only cherry on this otherwise repulsive cake was Mike. He also like clockwork would show up every Sunday evening, and we would close the curtains on an otherwise non eventful week with a pint at Gary's. We both to our hearts content, to resume the mundane existence to repeat the lies all over again.


The week was lazy as always, Mondays had to be dragged out of the door for Tuesday to arrive, while I slogged my way around the blacksmith's furnace. Wednesdays are usually a bit cheerful, but this particular week was already cross with me. Then came the furrow of Thursday, and all I did was pound away on the red hot Iron, until it was Friday. Thank God it's a Friday, I would hear the townsfolk jeer out, but its a term lost on me. Fridays I dread. It's the day of the town market, where the fury of the townsfolk - flocking to buy the ironware, are directed at the poor work-boy. 

 

But this Friday was different.

Fate has a mysterious way of being the knight in the shining armor, and it came to me in the form of my dead aunt. I had only known of her existence, but due to a fruit basket she had always assumed that she was my favorite aunt, God rest her gracious odd soul. 

Odd one she was, broke the ties with the family, and invested all of her inheritance on a company named after a baby's gurgle. The folks put her up in an institute for the odd ones, and I happened to have a fruit basket the day we put her there. 

Her will had my name in bold. The baby's gurgle had now turned out to be on every person's tongue, and I was the sole heir to all the money that gurgle made. I could already dream of swimming in my dream damsel's lustrous voice.


Mike was the first one who came to my mind. The deed was still a day away, but a celebration was warranted. I took ol' Mike to Gary's and ordered the finest whiskey which my weekly wage could buy. For a change I was not worried about my ration money, neither the dreadful Sunday. I was going to be rich after all, and I could afford to splurge on Mike this one time.


The trance was setting in, and my mind had already built its own sand castles. Mike smiled at me, raising his shot glasses one after the other, cheering me on. I was finally happy. The drag of disaster had finally shed its weights. And I danced, I reveled in the new found joy which wealth would brings.


Was it my sloppy dance or the wealthy smirk, I am still not sure, but something did irk Brigg, the local bully.


"What are you smirking at punk!!", he closed those lines with a few expletives.


I heard Mike let out a scream, as I felt a stinging pain in my abdomen. Mike was always the dramatic one. Brigg was standing a breath away from me, his hands still clutching the penknife sticking in my guts. I felt the warm gush of blood soak my jumpers as Brigg pulled out the knife and stabbed me again. It did not miss the mark this time. My heart felt the cold tip of the blade, as it pushed its way into it. Mike was still screaming, yelling his heart out, I might say, and I slumped to the floor. 

 

At least my aunt didn't die poor.

Can I turn back time?

Light that never fades,
Ever green like a river,
Sweet is the sleep, eternal,
Will I wake up ever?

Men sway, so did I,
God my only witness, but her smile,
The eternal price for pride,
Is my soul so wile?

Rejected by paradise,
I wander, I lust, I slay,
Touch, turns to rot,
Even love decays away?

Caught in a memory,
Intertwined, my other half,
She waits, she wails, by the
Wooden box, does it laugh?

Pearly drops, dampens,
Dry ground, drunk on the dead,
Sleep her ally, love,
Sorrow did she wed?

Death sang a lullaby,
I sang with it, a rhyme,
And as the sun fades, I ask
Can I turn back time?
 

Rhythm of the Southern Chimes

The broken hymn,
Rippling through the time,
Splitting across, solace it seeks.
Solace it offers.

The goddess of war,
With her risen swords,
Saint in her own right, stained with blood,
Blood she offers.

The southern wind chimes,
Hymns of the forgotten souls,
Waiting by the gates of heaven,
Should they fall, should they raise.

The echoes of the lost shores,
Waves of the hidden peace,
Crisp with sounds of a new borns' cries,
She raises, a mother of two.

The birth was a pain, she recalls,
The war gave birth to death,
Blood stained cloths she cleans,
Humming to rhythm of the Southern chimes.

What if the world was round.

I ask my self,
Do ships sail north, or round,
I ask myself,
Do the birds fly south.

I ask my self,
Do the seasons change,
I ask my self,
Does the sun set, ever.

I ask myself,
Does the moon know the path,
I ask myself,
Does the wind just randomly blow.

I ask myself,
Do the tides raise, or just die down,
I ask myself,
Does the spring last forever.

I ask a lot,
I ask a bit less,
But I do ask for sure,
Is the world really round?.

The Lullaby of Lies

The world is peace,
The words would cease,
You would see the end,
The bright undertone.

The night is young,
The darkness hung,
On the sun that would raise,
Sleep, sleep is peace.

The misty lights,
Would engulf the night,
Raise to the song,
The promise, I make.

Sleep my child, 
Sleep in the lies,

The Fallen Prince

The dribbling gold, 

From the pockets of a mongrel,

Street urchins gather,

Pray for the lost soul, 

Pray, does it matter.

The flying queen,

Fairy of the winter's tale,

I beckon, I wait, for your touch,

Do your deed, let me wither,

The flowers fade, the bells toll.

The chimes sing their song,

Winds my mate, as I float,

My ashes on the tender sheet,

I have fallen, the darkness my ally,

I have fallen, betrayed my fleet.

Despair of a lost soul,

I wait for my end to come,

Do come, cleanse me, free me,

My guilt my brother, 

Take me with you, to the sea.

I am the fallen prince, 

The king of my time, 

But a pauper at the death's gate.

Betrayal was my weapon, 

But alas, death tricked my fate.

Who killed the Santa

The chiming bell, tolls, tolls, tolls,
Ringing in the mid summer sledge,
Who has seen a rain, dear,
No, I haven't, its just an elk, see.

Croak, the swamp sings,
Croak, the crow swims,
Croak, the world spins,
Croak, the bell rings.

The deafening silent bell of the north,
Oh snow flake, you would wither, 
Wide awake, waiting for the ash,
Settle, settle, settle, subtle sounds.

Bleak, the southern wind,
Bleak, the minute print,
Bleak, cold breath mint,
Bleak, I sleep, I wink.

A twig breaks, the sledge plunges,
The great northern wind screams,
The winters are here, here and here,
But where is the misty chill.

Drip, the water slips,
Drip, the sweaty lips,
Drip, the clammy hips,
Drip, the sunken ships.

And when the sun sets,
Far away in the northern chills,
An old man turns, shivers and sleeps, 
The question still remains though,

Who killed the ghost of present.

Traveler-Epilogue, The mad King

The night had been long,

My share of mares, with the stories untold,

With dreams forgotten, a heavy heart,

And through 'em, sinister plans, I play my part.

My brothers disappear, in pools of blood,

My brothers disappear, I wish help'em I could.

Forests of despair, intervened with our quest,

Riches promised, women to satisfy our lust,

Lands to conquer, for the king in me to rest.

A long trail of deceit, as I travel,

An immortal, I have lived a story untold,

Today I stand, alone and lost in time,

Traveler, they call me, traveler with a rhyme.

To devil, sell my soul I did, to live for eons.  

To devil, sell my soul I did, despaired, I live on.

The moon, my desire,  a price far promised,

Wine to quench my thirst, golds for the love I missed,

Souls to win, for the king in me to despotize.  

This is the last journey, they say,

I desist to move, for I have stories untold,

The winding path through the country side,

And the men, whom I killed for my own hearts' pride.

Ghosts aren't real, they just vanish with the wind,

Ghosts aren't real, sleep eludes, for I have sinned.

O' night, why are you bathed in blood,

Ridden with guilt, my heart, a withered rose bud,

Sleep I yearn, and my eyes, they have bled.

I am a king, the king of an immortal time,

But insanity, my king, has stories untold,

I have reigned with vengeance, for my soul that I lost,

The witch of time, chuckles, "but at what cost".

Past is slowly pulling me in, vanish it whispers.

Past is slowly fading away, sins, my seven sisters.

So I drink, I dance and I feast with the dead,

With so much, over the crackling fires done and said,

But no pleasure satisfies me, and no one for a tear to shed.

For I,  am the traveler. 

The traveler saga : Traveler 1 - 6

It rains for years.

The streaming tears, on her cheeks, 

Mesmerized my being, for a while,

I had lost all senses, time flew by,

Cry turned to pleading, drifting in space

Why touch, what is not yours,

Make way, through the waves.

Let your hands play a tune, 

And dance, fluttering through the air.

The color black, looks pale,

As her eyes, witness the pain,

The tears don't stop, they flow,

I am drowning in an ocean.

Why did your smile fade,

Laugh and make waves in the sea.

Hold onto me, she chimed,

But I drifted, drifted way out into void.

I saw a hint of pleasure, lust,

As the sun burned my skin,

Weeping, she sits, weeping she lies,

I will fade with the memories of the night.

Turn me into a stone, heartless

Sculpt me, give me life, let me be reborn.

Caress my hair, let me sleep,

In your arms, let me be the dream.

The sky parted, rained for years,

I am drowning, in the rain of fear.

Hold me close, don't let me drift, 

Guilt, I hold dear, sleep a drunken lullaby.

One song poem: The sad man's fiddle

Wife, what art thou? Sitting by the corner,

Raking leaves, in the winter snow, 

Wife, what art thou? Singing a lullaby,

To a child long forgotten.

Wife, what art thou? Caressing my hair,

While I loath your touch.

Wife, what art thou? Kissing me good night,

When I would never sleep.

Wife, what art thou? Holding my hand,

While I let you go, a long time,

Wife, what art thou? Nursing my child,

Who decayed in the grave.

Wife, what art thou? Hiding a tear,

When the world laughs at you,

Wife,what art thou? Being soulful,

While your body gave way.

Wife, what art thou? Loving me still,

I know what you are, so 

Wife, what art thou? I do understand,

While I pretend not to

You are the sad man's fiddle.

One Song Poem : Voice of the Unheard

The touch of cool breeze, unwavered by thought,

She sat, her hair wavering like silken thread,

The Sun was her companion, as it smiled and shined,

Silence was her friend, as she sat, lost in thoughts.

A butterfly fluttered around her, wings flapping,

A gust of wind, she felt, raising her hopes of a new tomorrow,

The ruslting of the leaves, the stutter of the nature,

The thoughts were only what made her, the tresses of her past.

Niether did the gods could help her, as silence crept in,

Long lost were the days of pompous celebration,

As she sat, by her dark corner, walls casting their shadows,

The glimmer of sun, lost in the silence of her day.

A twig broke, cracking through her being,

A tear sparkled as she stood, walked away from herself,

The portrait of a bright future, dallying by her fingers,

Will this ever end, Will I ever speak.

A firefly twinkeled, as the night broke out,

The shadows of the walls, long lost to the night,

She walks, away from everything she knew,

Every thing that defined the being she was.

A hug, the tears find their way,

Paving a path of sorrow, she tramples,

The dying flowers, reflect her hopes of tommorrow,

Nothing but rain, as the clouds curl up.

The silver lost to the lust, she held it at her heart,

The rain would lash out its fury, as clouds darkened.

The silver lost to the clouds, as the moon hid in the night,

And it rained, her tresses wetted by tears of god.

Will she ever speek?

Splashes

.. Memory are like splashes of water, falling from the sky, they disappear with time..

Drops splashed open the door, a mountain path,
I walked, wet as the rain lashed its might on me,
A mud covered cloth to hide my shame, I walk on.

Its raining memories, washing my mind, making me numb,
Each drop a stab from the past, as I walk the path,
The rain won't stop, the blue of the water disappears.

I remember the rain, washing my dreams away, despair
The path is difficult, alone I walk, as I leave my comrades behind,
A turn for each, as they go their own ways, away from the pain.

I watched the gray of the sky, clouds laden with sadness,
Its the same inside my heart, my soul clouded with fear,
The colors fade, turn red as they splash on the ground.

Colors play their part, as they fade away into nothingness,
I have to survive, my heart says, I hold my staff, up I stand,
The mountain would be overcome, and the rain shall stop.

And I walk, away from everything that ever defined me.

Half Face

....He watched the half painted face on the wall smile...

His eyes opened to a new morning, white lilies on his table,
The bright yellow tint of the morning sun, streamed his mind,
He watched the half painted face on the wall, blinked his eyes.

The nights spoil, spread under his bed, he could feel the heartbeat,
As he stepped aside to his new day, the face on the wall smiled,
The smile turned to laughter, pride his only emotion.

The spider crawled away, as his hands reached in to the depths,
Depths of his unaltered life, the lips parted in half a smile,
Love, he knew was that which changed the face, the half face.

The lily bloomed, a half white silver petal, fading at its root,
Something had changed from the previous night, spiders in his brain,
The red pool that had formed, reflected his evil self, the passion.

He watched the lily fade away, the white turning to pale rust,
He watched her smile fade away, the sunlight fade into darkness,
The spiders crawl back, as he laid her down, under his bed.

Wings of Dream

Is this life just a path to the place, that we all have come from...

His eye glimmered, with an unending passion,
As his hands worked the soft features of his dream,
Delicately he shaped it, made it real, from his own desire,
Then he breathed life into it, as he watched it fade.

He watched it grow into a beauty, a beautiful nymph,
He gave it everything, desire from his deepest heart.

It had a heart, which beat with every changing season,
It had a soul, which he thought he had owned,
The beauty grew, grew into something he couldn't comprehend
Until it was time to part, but his desires strong not to let go.

Then the story of tears, and sorrow, that passed,
The story of loneliness, that swept across his mind.

He realized that he couldn't shelter his dream for ever,
And agreed to let it free, free into a world of conceit,
But his pride was broken, aged he looked back at time,
Watched his dream bear wings and fly away, loneliness his aid.

He waited, till it had gone out of sight, and then a sigh,
As he picked up his walking stick, with a retreat of an old man.

Fathom

You will burn in your innocence when the world steals your smile

She waits under a sunburned sky, a woman in her primes,
Waiting for the day to dawn, to wake her up from her denial.

He would come, she says, but little does she know,
That despair is his only pride, and death his bride.

A long lost war, a shielded window of shattered faith,
Now she waits for her man to come, to save her from her fate.

Gods would show me favour, and let me be one with him,
But oh great sea, why did you steal his soul from me.

Is it madness that counts, or the love that kills,
For she stood there thousands of days, waiting for him still.

He won't come, the village echoed, crushing the last piece of hope,
He won't come, for he is one with death, sang the multitude aloud.

By the sea she stood, but why did you take him from me,
For an aching heart you have given me, and an eye devoid of tears.

Ages passed and soon the village forgot, forgot about the woman,
Until one sunny day, she came home, huddled in a casket of her own.

The Stranger

A voice that rose, deep within my heart,
A gentle touch that said "I am here"
I have waited pretty long for that voice,
I have seen pretty much for it to fade.

I saw a rabbit peak out of its burrow,
Wander long enough for it to turn red.
I let the hand raise against me, in anger,
But never did I try to see what it meant.

Paths fade, but memories remain intact,
How much you try, a caring heart I can't create
If its a smile, I can give, or I can fake,
But if its rain, Oceans are better

Silence

I knew a man, long ago, back when the birds used to chirp and the trees used to swing. He was fond of killing, taking life, but only in talks. He liked the concept of death, which was something every human being feared. He was fearless, he never cared about death or for that matter about any thing else at all.
He used to say, "We humans fear what we don't know, and if you don't care about your ignorance, you don't fear any thing".

He was brave, he was mighty, he could have led an army of thousands of men, but he never did. He loved his imagination. He loved to think, to think he had the power to take that which was most precious to all. Power to create his own world, power to destroy what he created.

He used to say. " This is intriguing, I love it", then after a while he would say " I have lost interest in it, its nothing more than a regular human dumbness.". He used to despise human life, despise the way they used to live, loving, caring and worrying about tomorrow. He had loved once, just once. I don't know what went wrong or what went right, for he never loved again. He loved to teach though. Rub off a bit of wisdom on his fellow beings, and I just happened to be one of those he used to teach. He was brilliant, he was marvelous.

His desire to take life, dominated every other desire. He used to joke around " Lets kill some one today, Its too boring to live without a li'l bloodshed". He had the resolve to kill, resolve to take life, but he was too gentle to even hurt an ant.

Then one day I saw him kill, I saw him kill what was most dear to him. He said he had to get out of all the attachments. He had to get rid of everything this world had to offer. That was the day I started to fear him. Fear the very man who existed within him. I had never seen blood on his hands, but today he stood soaked in blood. His daughter lay next to him, drenched in blood as he was. She didn't move, she didn't blink an eye. She lay there cold, shriveled, in a pool of blood. I heard him laugh a bit, then he swung the knife. I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move. And before I knew anything He fell, next to her.

The Three Beggars

One day walking home did I see
Three beggars huddled under a tree
Shabby cloths did cover their body,
As their head swayed along with the wind.

I reached in my pocket, a shilling each did I pick
"'Tis no money we want", said one of the three,
"But a heart that would listen", he said to me.
For compassion can quench the pain and kindness indifference

Time was something I didn't have, but I couldn't leave
"Just for a while will I stay", said I as I sat by the tree.
"God bless ye young lad, for its good you think",
So I sat to listen what the beggars had to say.

"My name is Grief, and these are my brothers", he started the tale
"I am a requirement of loss, a requirement people fear,
Death is my mate as I fill in the lose of the one who is near,
and yet I sit by the tree, to beg, and to live"

"I am Chaos", said the second beggar, "And I fill in grief"
"Everything has a path, Everything has a reason, but for me,
I exist to confuse, I exist to plague, the human mind,
and yet I sit by the tree, to beg, and to live"

"I am Despair", Said the last of the Beggars,
"And its the hope that I take, and its faith I vanquish,
I leave a man with no hope to live, no hope to survive,
and yet I sit by the tree, to beg, and to live"

I listened to them as they rendered their tales, My heart did ache,
I departed from the three beggars, with a heavy heart did I part.
For grief brings chaos and chaos despair,
And he who dies in despair has lived his whole life in vain.

The Traveler

One fine day, on a journey afar,
Tired all the way, took a trip to the bar.
My table was set with the best of the wine,
With the money I could get, all of it mine

There at the bar sat a man in his prime,
Whom I was told, tells stories of his time.
So I took up my wine and went to his lyre,
To sit by his side and listen to his rhymes.

I was a traveller a brave one at heart,
He went on to tell his past.

Nor could the night nor the robbers of the dark,
Could scare my spirit to travel afar.
Until the day, when I came face to face,
With the devil himself in a cold chilling grace.

I ran for my life afraid to my core,
But the devil was there, he was never gone.
The darkness covered me, my soul felt so cold,
I could feel the death, as it was taking hold.

Memories of my life flashed through my eyes,
Nothing but just fear engulfed me inside.

"I am here to make a deal" said the devil with a smile.
"In Exchange for your soul I'll give you infinite life".
The waiter came with the bottle of wine,
As the drunk traveller blabbered all the time.

I chose life, he went on to say.
Then I felt nothing more, no sorrow nor pain.
I was captured in his story, I emptied all the wine,
Until in the morning, The barman woke me from the night.

"Where is the man, who was sitting by my side".
"There was no one sir" the bartender replied.