Mist,Marooned

The Pine needle rain was hurting him again,and it seemed like the night would not whisper console anymore..

Fourteen months,it had been.Fourteen months since the Captain was last sure about the weather,since the one steady brow on the glass eyed tube and a smoking pipe lied to him.Quite convincingly.Fourteeen months,he thinks it has been,since he tasted the ocean salt and heard the rotting wood gurgle away into the dark blue.

He had never learnt to write.A sailor never needed to.The only two names he had ever bothered with were his and his Captain's.Not because he had loved the captain,but because he wouldn't be a sailor without the Captain.It had come in to good use too.Everyday he would write his captain's name on the white sand and urge the sea to wash it away.Little by Little.Everyday he wished he wouldn't have to do that again.Every night he Wept....
*
WALTER DRAKE

WALTE

WA

..
*

The highest cave was his home.Hope greeted every new sun and stars twinkled despair all along.Leaves had covered his body well and the fish would roast quite perfectly.He had survived,he had learnt to survive here.He was a sailor.

Survival was his greatest fear....

The Green peak at the right end of the island was his heaven.He would talk to the rocks when he felt alone..


He could not remember if she worn red or blue at the harbour.He could not remember if she had brought the dog along.He could not remember about wether the wind had been playing the hair.He could not remember if the sun was setting an orange hue.All he could remember was the salty tearful kiss which told him all he to ever needed know,all he ever longed to know.That she would be waiting...and the good bye smile.

Sometimes,the clouds would mimic her face and he would talk about the many worlds he had seen.Sometimes she wouldn't be there,and he would bother the growing plants instead.Sometimes he would just stare.
Sometimes even the mist seemed sad.Marooned.


He would talk to the rocks when he felt alone.The Green peak at the right end of the island was his hell..

Nero

Kings of heavens and Hounds of hells,
I be greater than thee
For when I shall sit on that chair,dead
I shall be prayed and be set free

Rome had burnt for seven nights
And flames it kissed for six new suns
As when at night,I play my harp
my queen and I would Snigger and Wail
How could it be??

To rule like gods,to laugh like men
I shall carve Rome out of gold again
And when they see what i give
Songs would sing,Colours would paint
And Life Shall live,
My Dream

I Shall Play And I Shall Reap,
I Shall Kill And I Shall Weep,
My Feat Shall Be the Best there's been
My Beauty,My Divine,My Male Queen
We Shall be


Armors And hides And Hearts be drilled
If you would dare not see my Act
For I am Nero,The king of Arts
The King of World,A king insane
A man,An Artist,A God...

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Some lines from the poem are a direct reference to the ancient Roman rituals.
The line "And when i shall sit on that chair,dead" refers to their ancient custom of propping a dead person up in a chair and conducting an eulogy.

Similarly,some other lines are also to be quite literally interpreted.Nero was supposedly quite mad at the end of his life(having murdered his wife,working as a theatre artist and imposing huge taxes to build an impossible dream,a new Rome)

The lines
"My Beauty,My Divine,My Male Queen" refers to a male fellow actor in his group whome he had made his queen(by cutting of the his sexual organ making him a Eunuch)after he killed his wife over a blurt.

Although Nero was one of the most preposterous kings to have ever been,the guy had a beautiful vision once"To make rome a Temple of Art.to rule it as its god."

A vision Insane,yet Beautiful...

What's it about?

In midst of all the eventual reciprocity called Life,what actually keeps us alive are few drops of the uncertain,unexplained and the not thought for.What is Abstract needs no reason to explain itself,and that would be experiencing true freedom.And is Beautiful.

******************************************************************************
I have always been telling people that Engineering is the most aweful thing that ever happened to me.I lie.I lie cause no truth would explain me better than the lie.In fact,it was best thing that happened to me.And will always stay Beautiful...

The manequin by the Women's wear had the most intriguiging expression.The air around smoked of Unanswered questions and waiting expectations.She Smiled,Earnestly,lifeless yet alive...

They play the game,they worship it.In Wishful hearts and Churning minds,they know they'll never die as long as it stays.It would always stay,until the next eternity.It wasn't just a game,wasn't even just life.It was Art...

Poetry is its own rhythm.Words would find their beats and lines would make tunes.Perfect Chaos and an Imperfect harmony would reflect an Aging sky and the Dying sun.If the end is ever to be declared,poetry would be perfect.

I seek thee in the heart of hills

I find your leftover green

I seek thee in the blowing air

I find you cant survive the winds

I seek thee in a laughter,loved

I see you've gone,long ago

And as i sing,of the treasure unfound

I see,

You(beauty) lie in your subtlety