First Love

So, so you think you can leave,

Move freely?

No bounds or memories,

Ghosts of history?

Your past is gone?

has it been erased?

Running down that memory line,

Can’t find that hand

that’s keeping you straight?

Your head on his shoulders

His fingers running through your hair

You see the resemblance?

No you can’t see

As the new one aint “He”

You wish for a lonely night,

You two on the beach

Just to sleep in his arms

You and him with the moon overlooking.

But he won’t stop

His usual gibberish

Business flights and mergers he competes and completes,

While on the sand and sea,

Its only his heartbeats you long to feel

Yes you are right,

he is so different,

Do you know why?

Because he aint He

he aint He.

On long journeys back home,

Smiling at each other`s ways,

Casually letting slip he loves you, he laughs.

But does his smile and eye reflect the same

Is it really love?

Is he true?

I don’t know as I am the one,

who just puts questions into you and run.

Is it love? Does he love you true?

Then why do you wish?

Wishing it was “He” who was here.

I am a cruel joke,

Do you know me?

Your heart and its passions

are squeezed by me,

I crush them,

I trample them,

Your emotions ruffled

I feed on your sufferings

till you feel drained.

I am the First Love,

Yes that`s me

Why do they name me love then?

It’s just cruel games that I play.

A day at the Museum

Daddy, daddy I don’t want to go

Mommy please tell him,

I don’t want to go.

I want to go to the ground where breeze flows,

Where that sun shines,

where I’ll be able to run,

kick, jog and climb

Don’t say that son,

Museum to is a nice place,

A place of history,

A place of knowledge.

But I don’t like history,

It bores me down

Tugging at his father`s sleeve

the boy just wants to run.

Slowly the small family makes way to the large hall,

Glittering under the huge chandelier

those arrogant statues, empty portraits and unused artifacts.

Daddy, daddy why does the man in the picture have such a stone face?

Why is he angry?

why is he mad?

No son he isn’t angry

He was a king once,

and that’s how kings look like.

Oh a king was he?

So he must have fought battles too a many?

Did he look the same,

when his soldiers were killed and army fleeing?

 

Dad look, look!!

That`s a broken statue.

its face is deformed and arms gone.

Son it’s because the statue decayed with time,

the exasperated father replied.

But dad if it has broken and crumbled,

how is it still arrogant and proud??

Look dad in this picture,

All those people are bowing to the king

In those times did they actually worship the crown??

Bemused father, at a loss,

what to say to his child,

How could have mass murderers, who torched down entire civilizations

be considered as Gods?

Dad I like this king, he looks kind.

Look he is giving sweets and gifts to those poor boys.

Silently the dad smiles and turns around,

those false portraits which narrate false golden times,

pictures which are always dumb and mute,

of how those poor boys lost their families,

whose fathers died in the pursue of king`s lusty desires.

Father leads the son away from all this farce and explains,

Go, go out and run son.

fall down , get bruised but still run.

As the true world,

true knowledge outside resides,

Inside , here is no history.

its just a story a man writes.