Wings

These are the wings fledged 

From the scorn and tail.

But these are the wings which retold

the tale with the ink of pain.

These are the wings pinioned 

To fly like an elegy with a rag of curses.

But these are the wings which rewrote

The history with the quill of success.

These are the wings which flew ahead

Above the jealous and crooked tale.

Rebel

Rebel am I,

Alive with a dark heart

Filled with remorse;

And wail with the black eyes,

Which found the injustice!

And the revolt against norms,

Which curse the unique ideas

Is a never ending revolt to

Kill the hidden agendas of cruelty.

Rebel am I,

Crucified by the jealous spirits,

Which killed my thoughts,

With their soaked rules!

But the revolt against disgrace

Is never veiled till the last breathe!

And as a rebel I will expire,

With the victorious triumph of rebellion.

Signature

Signature am I,

Who praise the identity

By unveiling the soul.

Signature was I,

Who shed tears

By hiding in a den.

Signature am I,

Who killed the inferiority

By digging the superior traits.

Signature was I,

Who was abandoned

By the pompous masks.

Signature am I,

Who won the temptations

By the trophies and victories.

Signature am I, 

Who took birth

From the graveyard

And from the toil of years!

At last I am the signature

Who won the dignity,

From the past  of negligence.

Tale

Tale

The pen, my magic pen;

Destined to rewrite my tale

Was perplexed in this journey

Of retelling my tale with the smile.

The pen was envisioned to, 

Scatter the hard pebbles

And to throw them off,

Was tired with the search for

Softness among rashes.

But the magical vision

Failed to restore the tale,

With the seducing fragrance.

As I opened my eyes,

To read the new page of sorrow

Which followed me from the past,

the tale is aborted by the inkless pen.

Inferiority

Inferior am I, 

With the penniless hands

And lame darkened body!

While you are superior,

With the gold coated hands

And white skinned body!

Inferior am I,

With the unfit loose wall of rags

And pebbles filled shelves!

While you are superior,

With the coastly thin  veil of rags

And medals filled shelves.!

Superior am I,

With my thoughts of inferiority,

Which excavated my glory from the pebbles.

And superior am I,

With the polished thoughts of expedition,

Which dug my graveyard to loot my ignited wings.

Prayer

O god!

If you wish to bless me with a new life;

Never make me a human...

As this expedition wounded me,

With intense pain and remorse.

Make me an alien of faraway land,

Where no clan fight against own land

And no king loot from his subjects.

Make me an alien who never wound brother

And neve make me fed on corrupted carcass.

Make me an alien who empathize with heart,

And never make me a human who kill the blood.

Sweet Melody

Like the saviour from Heaven, 
He was bloomed in a stable,
Where he heard sweet melodies
And muted them into eternal words.
Unlike the saviour,
He was the bliss of spring,
And never the son of icy flakes,
But the eternal joy of winter.
Younger Romantic was he, 
Who churned liberty with lyric,
And scented Victorian buds with imagery.
Spenserian was he,
Who stood tip toe upon a little hill.
And the quill was he,
Who found the pain of Titans
And abandoned tears into Hyperion
As the star which dwelt apart eternized Satan.
Dream was he with the sight of a,
Bold lover who cans't kiss.
From the garden,
He sung for the goddess
By sweet enforcement and remembrance.
And he mourned for the farewell of time,
And fallen notes are invoked to inspire the buds.
And you can hear the melancholic chord,
Played by the nightingale caged from garden.
And agonies are poured
From the sleep and poetry urn.
With the moonlit sheep,
He mourned deeply for Chatterton,
But Shelley wept for his Adonais,
As the mighty quill chocked with consumption.
But the joy of beauty is immortal,
Through this unheard lyre.