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Broken Verses
by Siddhant Jain (Poetry) | Published On: 06-Sep-2015

Contemporary concocted with an anachronistic steez,
Timeless preachings enunciated from the lips of the priests,
No faith in the doctrines but I conformed them to teeth,
Customary beliefs encircled within the confines of a wreath.
Perplexed credence's purified by lust, struggle and dreams,
Faint visions of an altar with nuns stooped on their knees,
Pentagram for a cross, praying for their loved and deceased,
Hell akin to heaven as the roots below ground bloom into trees.


Esoteric debates splitting the proletariat's and the aristocrats,
Moirai spinning web in tune to immoral acts perpetrated in the past,
Cut the thread on Bard yet outlasted death for his legacy left an impact,
Busted through the fourth wall for the stage was only holding him back,
Wits honed on a whetstone on the likes of the foolish saps,
What's a king to a God and a God to a heathen lad?
Fluid thoughts in my head flowing so raw, it's a broken tap,
Swallow that, bestow it upon a prodigy that one day we might have.


Another King with a dream enslaved for it eclipsed it's own contour,
And Alexander wept for there were no more worlds left to conquer,
To free India, Bose allied with Hitler is a prospect worth to ponder,
Aberrations to history for it was supervised by a victor to squander.
Wounds that bleed gold often confound with a love so inferior,
Visions of a juxtaposed world if Israel was to bomb Syria,
Made insensitive to screams and sights of the bloody drapes,
A country put to map due to surge in it's sullied rapes.

Coalesce creeds within mirrored walls of a kaleidoscope,
Parturating ameliorated reflections of a convalescent hope,
Substance abuse transcending higher up to a newer low,
Zambian men being paid in jenkem for their women whores.
Shall dreams not be quenched for satisfaction is the death of desire?
Secularity and democracy only temporary solutions, to ceasefire,
Innocence retired to a pyre when you're living in the Information age,
Forbidden secrets made candid to the multitudes of every age. 

Climb the steps of my spine to my mind it's a rugged path,
An infinite yet limited an imminent pyramid of acumen so hard to grasp,
A spiral of rejection against the Bible and the arrival of revival,
Death isn't final, but life is a vital recital of an uncertain past,
Rejoice your fall from grace prior to being judged by the Funhouse cast.
Blueprint of humanity shrouded in fiction and uncertainty,
Barely scratching the surface of finding our purpose,
A corpus of  a wordless verses signifying our false notions of superiority. 

Fantasizing about rejecting apologies I know will never come,
An euphoric counterpart subdued like the parable of the prodigal son,
Redemption is bleak when dispositions are resigned to a sheath,
Enticed to believe that death of reason is belief, no relief in deceit,
Conceived to be pleased, misbeliefs lead to grief,
Foundations built on dust and debris, frail like twigs and the leaves,
A forbidden fruit from the trees, I'm the snake you're my Eve,
Take a bite and unleash, reveal what's beneath the defeats and deceased. 

Death birthed time to leverage life and pain to subjectify serenity,
Stairway to heaven leads also to hell or purgatory for eternity,
In neutrality lies not nobility, undivised verbosity led prolixity,
Ephemeral fertility of a vulnerable mind squandered in vapid vanity,
Fidelity is not monotony augmenting security and suavity,
Prolapsing irresistibly through time and space into a complex alterity,
Avid with changes, insusceptibly immortalized within the lines,
Predisposed to an infinite tenderness, craving for an obscure design.

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Author
Siddhant Jain

Siddhant Jain

Written: 11 Stories

Member Since: 01-Sep-2015

Country: India

Category

Poetry