The Highway to Hell

Riding on the wrought plains of woe,
a marginalized road paved with blackened snow,
steeped in boiling sweat of those undone,
road rollers broke upon the hollow tracks overrun.

Rising above the dust of worn out souls,
laid to rest under the smoking cigarette rolls.
Turned to stop the blistering march of the funeral band,
found myself done in on their command.


It’s Your Party.

Oh, it’s a pleasant surprise!
You seem to walk around in a stupor.
You talk to walls with no ears.
I’m pleased that you made it for supper!

So it’s your birthday again.
You chase them hoping that they’ll chase you.
You think you know, yet you don’t
Made deals with your demons to undo.

If life is steeped in madness’ past,
tell me, love, exactly how
bleeding long do you expect to last?

Afterall… It’s your party.



Lapis Philosophorum

Their burnt Magnum Opus.
In search for the one which gave them hope-
the glories, the riches, and the life worth it all.
Scientists and philosophers alike,
they travelled far and wide.
Till the end.
Till their ends.
The owner of the one
worn of temptations searched another.
A fantastical cure for life’s dull weariness.
To heal the scars of time and restore.
A sliver to transmute
hearts of stone.

Their hearts of stone.


An Eternal Expedition

Dawn rose above the dark once more,
to search for the lost paragon.
The one of them legends and lore,
the one which was mine’s ever gone.

Brushed the abyss of the ancient,
sieved every bit stumbled upon,
to feel the pain of the sentient,
the one which was mine’s ever gone.

And as the valley of sleep dries,
waning rivers of hope are drawn,
to bring back the strong heart who lies,
the one which was mine’s ever gone. 



The Pianist from Another Dimension

A humdrum world inside a bell,
I wonder if it’s like what it seems,
I watched them roll inside out
and no one flinched at the scenes.
Went to start a fight with them,
a sordid party to attend.
Where no one heard the final notes
and the colours didn’t make sense.
Where felines didn’t mind the mice,
who scurried past in endless loops.
Where they just saw themselves-
reflections off their empty stones.
The pianist played mournful tunes,
to sing of their current affairs.
He seemed like the only one,
not disillusioned by the vanity fairs.
So I marched to that sane man,
and punched out all his lights.
Oh well, if the world is to be doomed,
I might as well join the ranks.