The cognisant state
Through the looking glass Narcissus explores,
All the workings of one’s own soul,
A world enamoured with ruby, sapphire and gold.
The eternal wound of the first broken soul,
The tale of horses, sons, women and gold.
A day without forgiveness,
For the farmer’s daughter,
A day without compassion,
For the butchers son,
All in the name of me, I and myself.
Alas! Allah! Please forgive me.
Until twelve past four.
In the shadow of the patriarch,
They cry for redemption,
They cry for remorse,
Justify the common sin,
Oh Lord! The times clutch our soul!
His eyes perceptively blinded,
Until twelve past four.
Such is he cursed with his dark materials,
Immortalisation so easily shunned,
From the hearts of the old and the young,
The beast within still remains?
The first wound forever edged into the walls of our soul.
The vision of the parting seas,
Or the Ragnarök of evil souls.
There is a symmetry to this madness,
As you sink into the sands of hold.
For one day the sun will not rise,
In its infamy, it will not conform,
To the rules of the ants,
Or the rules of the throne,
The moon will shatter from its stationary form,
The stars will scatter, their radiance gone,
All that’s left will be our speck in the darkness and the will to conform.
Father, forgive them, for they do not know,
Beyond the jail lies the door,
O Brahma! The door creaks,
Indeed! A creation of the weak, the ignored,
How can they be special?
A simple mind with only heart and soul.
Have the vision beyond twelve past four,
The smokeless fire, the one who swore,
The one that challenged, till twelve past four.
Only by clay can it be slain,
From the ashes your garden will remain.
Call it a fashion,
A plea of the ignored,
Do not doubt them for a second,
They are the eccentrics about whom history has foretold.
Burning at the centre of time, ancient and forever.
What is life without the ecstasy of influence you say?
What is life rather a dream within a dream?
For many fall astray! They utter,
Was Jonah not forgiven for his faltered thought?
Have you not learned, that fire burns and ice is cold?
The scar, indeed is the greatest pedagogue,
Not all who wander are lost,
Let the citizens search for their souls,
Let knowledge overflow their humble minds,
As the universe expands into darkness,
The day will come when all will be clear,
The day will come when knowledge will be revered,
The unseen currency of all the lands,
Easily ignored like a hair strand,
With one whiff it flies away,
Only to be discovered once more.
The ever restless sea of blue,
The perpetual state of ungodly creatures,
Ascend to reach that golden door,
The vision of a world with no fear of the unknown.
Curiosity, man’s greatest virtue,
It’s result one cannot comprehend,
Ask the unanswerable questions,
Without it, our lowly speck in the darkness will never transcend.
So live, die and be reborn,
For all the world’s a stage,
Us its eternal convicts.
The vision such few witness,
Truly the garbage of the oblivious.
Out with the old, in with the new,
Regurgitation the common law,
Stifling the common practice,
Knowledge the eternal king; curiosity its queen,
To hell with subtleness,
To hell with the soul,
The circle broken,
Let the rivers flow,
Out of the ashes, you will rise, free, reborn.
In the end it’s plain and simple,
Evolve or conform.
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