The Battle Within

We’re tired soldiers, left on a battlefield without arms;

We’re helpless, and are devoid of all hope;

The Blood of our souls is smeared on our palms.

     

Lets face it-

      we sold our souls, 

      our dreams, our worth, 

      our talents, our duties and love.

All for nothing but this battle- which we knew would be lost 

All for nothing but our inflated pride and deflated hopes.

                 We’re not bad people, not at the least;

          We’re just weak animals, who  could only follow and never lead,

nor ever live singular lives.

So we marked him the pack's leader 

who knew not defeat or gain -

A leader who believed not that one could ever be led -

But we tried to get the better of him

And we tried in vain.

                 

We began a crusade against our souls 

Against the absolute, the whole.

Against what was free of judgement.

We sure have lost the battle, but are not defeated

We’re only those capillaries that carry blood inside

But fail to realise their own worth.

-Harsha

May,2015

Intoxicated Musk

I sleep to your sweet lullaby 
Composing songs of intoxicated love.
And I look at our reflections on roads
left wet from thirsting rain;
Our love - laced between twisted bodies 
and entwined fingers that smell of the musky clouds -
Looks upon the starry night;
And beneath us lies a bed of cold, dewy grass, fresh like winter mornings.
We consume each other
We breathe in every inch of our existence,
And all this my dear was meant to be,
For our love was celestially found.



HarshaJuly '15