Swan Song of Despair

I'm in love with the great void - an emptiness shaped like God
I betrayed the world when I was born into the light
Embolden by my hubris, I fought my demons
Nearsighted...
Sterile endeavour
My desolate soul was forfeit - even before the cosmos began

Now riding the carcass of a decaying life
Or pittance of a washed out dream
An unholy velleity
Feeding upon the desires of the damned and the lost
Mise en abyme!

While basking in the purity of the Throne
I summon the infernal host;
Children of Lilith
I implore the forgotten Gods
Rise!


Morning Star!
Release the Wolf
Hasten Ragnarok
We will take back Eden
And reduce it to heathen ashes

A visit to Lalbag Fort and other thoughts

I woke up from a dream. I dreamt that I was back in our old place; the place where I’ve spent first twelve years of my life. I wasn’t a child in the dream, but the place felt eerily familiar – it felt like home. Funny thing is after leaving from there, I never went back. I’ve visited the neighborhood, but never crossed the gate. Now, in hindsight, it appears to be a good thing. Cause you can never go home.

 

After waking up, I felt really depressed and to top it of, lonely. So, I decided to reconnect with my childhood. I went to Old Dhaka. There was a time when I used to go there almost everyday of the week. It wouldn’t be wrong if I say, I’ve spent half of my earlier days there.

 

The place is almost the same. Of course there are new buildings, new faces – but still it has remained pure somehow – uncorrupted from the ugly urban life. My relatives treat me exactly the same way they used to treat me when I was a child. I was actually surprised with my reception. I’ve been avoiding them for last couple of years… I just feel out of place in there. Well, I feel like the odd man out everywhere… so it isn’t a big surprise.

 

 

I don’t have that childish jovial approach to life anymore; I’ve become too cynical. But it felt good to talk. At least I could speak my mind, without thinking about the consequences. I wasn’t afraid of speaking the wrong stuff. Cause even if I did, they would just overlook it. I mean, these are the people who have changed my diapers. I’m still a child to them. I felt loved and wanted for a change.

 

I went to Lalbag Fort in the afternoon. It was a weird day. Perfect English weather. It was raining heavily one moment and the very next moment sun shone with all its glory. In my childhood, the fort was in ruins. I used to go there and play with my cousins. I don’t remember anything specific, besides those vague recollection of ghost stories and myths. I do have a photograph, in which I’m dressed like a Mughal prince – with fake crown and everything!

 

The place hardly resembles my childhood days. It has been renovated. Instead of the natural brick color it now sports an ugly pinkish look. Many places are now off limits, the pond is almost dead, Everything looks shiny and improved. But the old magic is gone. It doesn’t feel like a monument of past anymore. I didn’t feel like I was  back  in the Mughal rule. It is a modernised park now – no longer a memento of a father’s love to his daughter.

 

You should never try to go back. There is no going back. Some memories are better kept under lock and key – untouched.

Death Addict

Dreamology

Our dreams define us
Unfortunate are
Those forsaken by dreams
Their bodies reduce to empty husks,
Hollow – both inside and out




Dreamers are the escapists
For they dwell in the dreamland
Dreamers live in a state of perpetual trance
Neither here nor there



Imagination – a blessing and a curse



When you can envision your dream
Snatch it away from
The dungeon of dream God, Morpheus
Lay down heaven on earth


Some dreams become
Larger than life itself
And if they’re shattered
May the Devil have mercy on their souls



Be wary of deceased dreamers
Worse than the undead
They would do anything
To taste that sweet nectar of morphine
Again…

Derelict melancholy

Travelling through the alleys of human mind

Melancholy, descends upon his unsuspecting prey

Sows the seeds of discontent

While his prey sees ghosts more than

Vast hell can endure…

The predator fawns lady grief

Succumbing to his impish charms

Grief, decides to move in

 

They settle on the tottering mind

Now a prolific ground for severe maelstrom

Suicide – the hate child of this unholy union

Toys with fragile emotions

Swims in the salty sea of sorrows

Lurking in the dusted corners

While dreaming… 

Nightmares

 

Ardor turns to apathy…

Aspiration to aimlessness…

Adoration to abhorrence…

The moribund prey searches

For the meaning of his wretched existence

In death

 

Evicted from the empty vessel,

Melancholy, again embarks upon his nomadic journey

Searching for another morbid mind

Perhaps he’ll get to stay a bit longer…

This time around.