My Literary Indulgences...

It's a good life, weekends spring eternal.  Friends gather round, plan a Saturday eve together.  But it's not the movies this time, no siree!  You see, my friends as you shall see, are quirky.  A hotshot thespian is in town, they gush.  Reviving a 30 year old play, they say in a rush. My interest is piqued, denial anyway not a choice.  So acquiesce I do, in a tiny, unsure voice. The stage is set amidst the lush greens of a golf course.  Out of my element, I feel, surrounded by elitist discourse. Yet Indians remain Indians as is soon proved, Unheeding a scene pause, to the bar everyone moved. The actors strutted about the stage, forceful Genuine moments of hilarity did ensue, though unplentiful So the so so play ended, and we departed.  For the second time then, expectations and reality, parted.  For dinner, a live music noisy den they chose And in all that din, I am now, confused in poetry and prose For it's difficult to maintai

I house an instrument. Of justice, and revenge; Of heroism, and villainy; Of mercy, and tyranny. I house an instrument, in darkness; But today, it sees the light of day. It's seen the sun before, And the starry nights. Sliced through air, water, Fire, leather, cloth, flesh And bone. The bejeweled tool, Ever faithful, never lost its edge. Bathed in praise, and blood, Surrounded in gore, and lore, A mindless force, piercing, severing, and disemboweling, In good, as easily as in evil. Its heartlessness sickens me. However, I am made to endure, the edge, whenever it lays resting. Unbelievably, that is favorable, to spectating its blood-lust unleashed. Accursed it is, but so is my fate, that I'd rather see my tears fall, than a drop of blood shed.