Fell Fumes, Bangalore

Beyond the waking hours of my life,

breathing fumes of terror and faith,

I have drooled over dead remains

of the society as it decays; little by little,

where I wait to snatch a glimpse

of the mangled remains of my brothers,

purged into the hysteria of Rationale

while they dance to please their demon gods,

spewing chants of praising failure

until they pass out in exhaustion

and remain motionless,

drenched in the pool

of their vomit and misfortune.

I hear their laughter in my head

like a sledgehammer sunk in my skull;

fragments of sanity flying off in fell tangents

to create celestial replications overhead,

where constellations trace the path

to the echoes of their sad demise,

flashing away like the sirens they carry

and their cries cutting across the social din.

We have learned to remain stoic

and to mourn under pressure

to every word of madmen

who govern our souls;

while we seek mere opportunities

to spend our time burning amphetamines,

waiting for visitors of our past

to haunt the night sky in an overdrive thrum.

I have been a witness to Creation.

Birth of democracy brain washed with the filth of freedom,

auctioned on the table where they butcher trust,

where congressmen hold rotten thoughts for sale

on memorial parks and national highways,

with atmosphere heavy on helmets and piss.

A judgement call they make to logic

on terms of morals and might

while behind closed doors,

in the shadows of their morality,

lay naked,

posing as prostitutes; satisfaction guaranteed.

Somewhere from the corner of the room

rumbles a vivid darkness

to materialize in the arms of this voodoo society,

swarming in concentric circles

that twists each fate into a double helix,

playing God to little dogs with marbles and drools on their faces

while they drag dead bodies under crimson skies,

tearing in their nails for a better grip.