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Ignorance

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Wasted portions of misunderstood and ignored knowledge

held for ransom, like a secret never told,

Stealthily gaining momentum

from its gravity turned stale, and time lapsed in hiding. 

Soon sheethed in the murky shadows,

lurking in the zone of the unknown,

Waiting.

Wanting to free, but hopelessly shackled,

a hostage whose only solace is reveling in a newfound medium,

Somewhere between complacency and torment,

it gathers rapacious auric silt and slime,

Like the ghost of thoughts put to rest,

And stories never told,

Burgeoning.

It plays possum in the night,

only to keep a watchful eye

upon the Earth.

Devotion and loyalty to reticence

is its only oxygen in the struggle for freedom,

Befriended only by the sound---HUSH!

And speak, but only for the rebirth of itself,

At its core, once long ago, enlightenment, metamorphosed into

a haunting, churlish, savage scowl.

Rude.

Ignorance

is the tortured spirit of all things 

misunderstood, held in secrecy,

the words and thoughts of the wolves

who walk with brazen ostenatiousness

in the sheep's hide.

07/29/2013 

1:31 am

©

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do androids dream of electric sheep the book i did read.. short story compared to the story of life.. i read the book of you and flip its pages quickly quickly my friend.. lover unknown person known.. lover known person unknown..

i read that book and as i do soft fingers trail across text.. the book of you has pages stiff and soft.. rough and smooth and at times i read it slowly too.. every puntuating mark a shock to my brain every train of thought rushes to my heart..

and i follow it chapter and verse to get to the heart of its creator.. i read the book of you and hope that it is not word for word as society has written..

but sometimes it is.. your passion plain to see becase you are used to being read by the average reader instead of hunger of imhotep.. child locked in a room trying to find the cure for a dying mothers cancer i sift through the words.. one on by one not missing a single stroke of the pen or drop of the ink pressed to print..

pages flip so fast they catch afire upon my fingertips..their heat fans out as i read on.. every day a few more pages but i know ill never be done because you are constantly changing the story.. new passions and mysteries write themselves in the book of your life.. new moments spill upon its pages..

im a book reader but let my fingers do the walking..

The Lost Youth

Ever seen the sheep ,tied to the pole?
gaily grazing within the limits,
gifted by the ropes, so short..
thanking the master for the treat.
does the poor soul know its fate?
to be milked, till her udder dries..
then ,she sees the knife so sharp
recalls the joy in masters eyes,
when the grass had made her plump..
too late too late it is now,should have
broken loose, when still YOUNG.
thus ends the tale of many a sheeps,
who had opted to live ,with the flow

Roshan N

“Gaze into faces,
get behind eyes.
From so many places,
fed so many lies.
All satiated,
starving for more.
Emaciated,
nauseating encore.
Imbalanced, heavy scales,
bearing unjust weight,
all who would reign must fail,
policy is bait.
Only one more swallow,
deep, filthy well.
Thirst always follows,
hunger’s dinner bell.
And, so we take the mark,
clones stamped in red;
sheep left in the dark,
bones, bleached and bled.
But, still I will rage
defying gravity;
incarcerated in this cage,
I choose to be free.
For I will not surrender,
I will not kneel,
to the Great Pretenders,
serving the next meal."

Insolent minds;
are welcome to the view.
Sounds and colors climbing
to their heart's delight.
Pull down the blinds
nobody's watchin,true?.
Marvelous assumption
this rendering of sight.
Information is a bane;
communication, grief.
Emaciated ecstasy
is languishing in children.
We just want to breathe again,
oxygen's a thief.
Is this our legacy
chained in sheltered prisons?
Soul starved refrains
require new incision;
dying while supplying
cures for old infection.
We cry for rain,
then alter the decision,
Mother Earth is dying
to see her own reflection.
Make no mistake;
I too, love release.
and I like to feed from my blank screen.
Known to placate,
anything for peace.
But I'd rather tend the musings in between.
Yet still they rise;
attending to the masses.
Paying; bowing lowly
to the idols they hold dear.
News dues come at demise
of the quivering classes.
Sheep approach death slowly,
grinning ear to ear.