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The Mystery

Doors that seldom open, despite frequent banging
Fastening away from the monsters, or enclosing within the devils?
Muzzling the demonic wails, maybe
Or warning the restrains, could it be?
Buying time maybe,
Killing time… can it also be?
Shrinking in silence sometimes,
At times sinking to a hush.
But always locked inside,
From the broad roadways, few subsist.
A mystery to this world
That claims The God’s eye!


Dust Storms

The dust storms have clouded my lungs
Dunes of solitary ruminations.
Brewing heaps of scorched drab dirt
In my burrows of some unresolved sorrow.
They clog my pores of respiration
Choking me, on my phlegm of paranoia
In this exotic land of doldrums untold
Enthroned by fear, I live my peasant life
Trying to rise a feet above the soil!
Oppressed by the rulers of my own democratic ink.