An Insightful Smile

Just when I claimed authority on naming the hidden souls,
Few emerged from the deep caverns of our mischievous era,
And few ascended into the glorious stage of heavenly winds,
But naming without seeking insight is an act of treason,
Treason towards the nature’s call for a justifiable beauty,
Such that we may realise not to disturb a leaf’s descent,
Or not to curse the cloud’s choice to reduce visibility,
Now that I have discovered the need not to name you,
I am free to be one with nature to gain an insightful smile.

Rest In Pieces

Blow the minds of the universe
And show me the curses of mankind,
If I have not created more paths,
More people will surely suffocate me,
Betray all that I have said to you,
All the passion and all of me you vaporised,
Leave me be and let me descend into
The darker than black abyss,
Constellations disappeared,
And now I am no one, none.

You may call on the birds and
All natural beauties of this universe,
And all I shall be to you is utter silence,
You may quake the earth under my soul,
Or explode the mountains into ashen volcanoes,
But I shall stay always in infinite silence,
Leave me be for I have chosen my
Intricate being to smile on the few stars,
Begone! For the constellations have
Disappeared, and now I am no one, none.

The Death of Stars

Since the dark ages of Apollo cursing
The crow, the cup, and the water snake,
Since the monsters of our own beings
Reproduced the wonders of storytelling,
Will we ever forsake some of our privileges
To remember the sacred names of nature?
He arises among the debris to denounce
The arrogance of the stars in the Big Dipper,

And from dusk to dawn unearthing
The shapeless bones of a raging soul,
Fiery in the sense of a burning coal,
And Hydra with its fading tail soon
Took its head to devour the gods of men,
And it curves around celestial bodies,
Travelling through copious dimensions,
To find a relic and reclaim the throne,

Except, the presence of another monster,
Quivering the heavens into a black hole,
Hercules now far from reaching its neck,
An old neighbour of the grape gatherer,
With its blistered bellowing barks asking
For a chance to show its beautiful heart,
But since earthly men never truly change,
Facing Polaris, the monster was publicly slain.

Stolen Maps

Men have long stolen maps of earth,
They have recreated them defective,
Nature’s eminence was casted away,
They were cursed: those who learnt
The truth along with buried treasures,
Not from nature, no, nature never
Curses as it only wages old beauty,
But men curse their own avaricious
Selves into their own burial ceremony,
And nature keeps outliving those men,
You see, men want to own everything,
They even look up towards heaven,
And search for maps that show them
The stairs to climb and the gates to
Take down, but then nature prevails,
Sending them into the depths of an
Ancient dust forgotten beyond the
Creation of you, and me, and Time.

Lifting Depression

The mist gradually enveloped my soul,
Natural cycles of life halted,
Branches of trees snapped,
Leaves on the ground hardened,
My back becomes more crooked,
To look ahead was to open wounds,
To move backwards only eased them,
But the drums of battle pierced my limbs,
I had few breaths left,
And no chance of survival,
Then a being entered my curse,
The dark mist on my soul lifted,
The waters of life returned,
Now, my branches towards the heavens elevated.