The Flutter Of The Butterfly

“Now our history will be glorified
So, now our men can rape their daughters and sisters in broad day-light”

- Danish Jamal

The day has begun again
Yet again it has begun
With the sound of
Of thundering guns
The day has begun.

The marching patriots:
Patriots marching towards
The seas of land that they
Shall waste at hand
And hand the dead
As they march for
Patriotism

They will meet men with guns
Guns with men, and women
Hurt, naked women; defenseless
And the patriots shall march
Above the men
And around the women.

The guns shall march
And bullets shall march
And the petals shall tremble
As the solders march
And blood shall flow
From the mouth of men
And wombs of women.

The sounds of glory:
The glorious sound
Has defended the patriot
Of the scream of the butterfly
The women that moan and
Flutter, before they fly.

But its all justified:
Justified it is
For in the name of a country
They fight
And fight it is.

"Those that survive are willed to die at a more brutal hour
Amongst more pain and agony,
That is the purpose of war. To conquer lands _ empty lands."



- Ripples Of Collections Of Those Things

CoMMuNicatioN

"I was pondering on the fact that I am an aspiring writer (apart from the many other things that I aspire to be). And I figured out that I was quite an immature one, in terms of style and thought, but more so, I started to wonder; why do I write?

It’s a serious question! I think I write because I like to write. OBVIOUSLY. But that’s just a clichéd mono-sentence. There has to be some real reason. Lots of people like to write. I enjoy the challenges that writing has in store. To formulate prose or poetry that will test my limits. But why exactly do I write?

I know it’s a harsh truth but lets face it. I write because I like to show off. I don’t mean it’s me alone; all you need to do is look around. Of course, I have something to write about and that does deserve credit. But I could have just written them and kept them to myself: but no! I post it all (most of it), and want people to read it. People call it sharing of ideas, marketing, publishing, communication; but I think more then anything its showing off. It’s more like I know more then you come read what I have to say. I know it’s sick. At least now that I have thought of it, I feel sick, but that wont make me stop writing or posting. Shameless.”

- Diaries Of A Madman

Satanic Scriptures

A black mist of seamless error
Blood stained immortal terror
Wet and red sweating stench
Like evil in evil drenched

He rides above the earth
Gnawing with vile mirth
At every living soul in sight
All dark; makes dark bright

Drives at every soul and flesh
Eats at men and children fresh
Eats the souls before they are born
Harvests evil like harvesting corn

With every soul it grows in size
Its source of survival in blood lies
As sour as vermin his infected mind
In perfect hatred he his teeth grind

With all ears he listen to the plea
With mockery wipes the slate clean
Transfuses and transforms Satan like
With every soul his powers hike

But he belongs to the old scriptures
Comes in variety of changing features
The-almighty-the-ever-present-
The-omnipotent-: The Impotent.

Pigs Are Drunk On Red Haste

One Bucket to live by

A single bread to eat

Shared between a family

Perched on earthen seat

The dry months

The dry mouths

The hungry depraved

What have YOU given?

What have you taken?

To your silent grave.

Glimering, glittering Chairs

Red pens, marks, signatures

Demanding; approving colonists

Feeding pigs with fake dentures

And they wonder "what prices?"

What labels and what gods?

Why recession, ineffectiveness

One dime gamed, two dimes lost

Where is the food?

Where is the key?

Where are the streets?

WHO cares?

What of their needs?

Where is the promised smile?

Where are the promised crops?

What happened to the negotiations?

You stuffed it in your socks?

You forgot the families

While working on your lies

You fight for Janpath lane

While the poor deprived dies

Welcome to masspolitial disorder

Here disoriented beings have sworn to bring order

And then the common man lays back and wonders

Why us? WHO? US? WHy?

* Inspired by a poem "dry song"

by Shinjini Singh A.K.A Missy didi

Evolutional Disorder

“We are
Working with ancient solutions
And

Crying over modern failures”

- From Ripples Of collections of those Things