What have I got left that i can offer the world?

There is nothing i can do, no way I can learn,

To receive any love, or to love in return,

I must look away while humanity burns.

But my fate, my call, i cannot ignore,

To cleanse myself, to open the door

To greatness, to legend, better than any lore,

While you humans dust my boots and scrub my floor.

I fear for myself, for if i do not stand strong

I will be crushed underfoot, be trampled by the throng

That runs down the stone pathway of life

Those tempered by sorrow, and honed by strife,

Gone are the days of love and joy,

When the world was merry and unburnt by ploy

But it hurts me to know that I’m not who I was,

My days of gaiety are long since passed.

I am as hard as rock, yet as fragile as glass

No skin on my body is unmarked by scars

Tis my curse that i must bear upon my soul,

To never smile, destined to weep and growl.



‘Hearts are meant to break’, ’tis truth, not lore,

One might chid me for saying so, but I don’t care anymore

For if I do not speak for me, I might poison my heart,

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That is already on the verge of shattering, but knows not where to start,

To break that is, for there are so many cracks around,

But I’m sure there are more, for they never make a sound.

My house of cards blew away, with the first slap they sent,

I stood strong for the first few, yeah. But later I started to dent.

So I learned that feelings do not matter

At least to those who like to see them shatter

I started to numb my heart, and keep it away from my soul,

So estranged were they, my self and heart, That everyday they started to growl’

Asking to be set free, and asking me to be myself,

But I had no pride in me, no place where I could delve

To reason out my life, for i always had that urge

To seize a knife, and start anew, to be cleansed and be purged

Of all my sad memories, and the rough edges of my soul.

I let my demons play with my heart, and of course, they played foul.

then came the horrors, but i approached them first,

My head be damned for doing so, but i could not bear up my thirst.

They told me they would help me, but they never could,

They asked me to talk and be with them, but i wasn’t sure whether I should.

Then my demons started to listen, for they saw me fall,

For real this time, and it was their doing, they broke their little glass doll.

So now here I am, picking up all my bits,

All of me that is scattered on the floor, to shape all pieces, to fit,

Me back together, with whatever there is,

Scarred, yes, but mended, to say the least.


The Lady Crumlowe (Part III)

The story of a woman who sacrificed much, but to no avail.

The letter itself was a death warrant, for her and her children. Her eyes blown wide, she fought for breath. It seemed as if though her body was refusing to function. A few minutes in the same place, her breathing slowed and she was able to move again.

She went towards the ornate mirror situated at the far most wall. She could not recognize herself. She looked foreign, different. But there was one thing that was familiar about the face that looked back at her.

It was the expression.

The brokenness, the fright was evident in her face, and it had been so since her husband left. The fact that she knew not what to do, or what to expect. She was scared to hope, to be happy, because she feared that it would be taken away from her. She knew that three lives depended on her.

And thus she steeled herself. Vowing to protect her children no matter what. She should flee, now while she still can. Flee into the south where none would harm them. Out of the reach of Napoleon Bonaparte.

She got to work. The servants too could not be trusted. There was a thousand gold bounty upon them, but the letter said that he wanted them alive. For what purpose, she did not know and although the royal seal was upon it, she did not know who sent it. The letter was not signed.


It was a strong word. Something that is so strong and yet so fragile. Who could she trust in a time such as this? The answer was none. She could trust none with the lives of her children.

She took down maps of the house and while studying them, she could see that there was a corridor leading out of the house that had no end or destination to it. It faced the south. Here, was finally what she was looking for. A passage that could get them out of the house without anyone knowing.


She ran.

Holding Edward and Dana by the hand and Maximus trailing behind her. The forest was dense and thick, she could see nothing, she ran solely relying on her instincts and hoping her children would do the same.

The police of the village caught onto them as they left. The coachman whom she hired to get them away had suspected who they were and alerted the security. But she who trusted no one thought of this possibility and was prepared. She was disguised as a peasant woman and so were her children. They saw the police at a distance so they took a different path. But the police pursued. Thus the current situation.

Slowly the forest started to thin. They were approaching the end of it. Clothes torn and breathing ragged they stumbled onto the edge of the forest to find a village. It was as if it had been deserted. there were no people on the streets, no lights at the windows of the small houses.

Behind them the baying of a hound sounded. She could see the police approaching them.

“Come on,” she said to her children and they wasted no time and began to run. They ran through the streets deeper and deeper into the village. the streets crisscrossed and they ran….. straight into a dead end.

She could hear the hooves of horses. she steeled herself knowing that there was none to save them now. She would meet the same end as her husband, who now lay where none can harm him, away from all war and sadness. For a moment, she envied him, the fact that he was safe and away from bitter life.

The horses were approaching. She could hear them well. She closed her eyes and prayed for the safety of her children, who were too young and too innocent to meet such an end.

“Get inside,” a voice sounded. A door opened in the nearest house. She needed not be told twice. She stepped inside and the door closed behind them.


Fear and Panic

First of all, know this before you read the poem; Deimos is the Greek god of fear, and Phobos, his twin brother, is the god of panic.

I hope you enjoy this.

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When the beat of your heart has not a steady pace,

When it hammers on your bones in a silent race

Do you feel it, when darkness swallows your face,

Would you let it consume you, will you fall from grace?

A scream that rips your throat bloody and raw,

Will you then feel his power, will you answer his call?

For Lord Deimos wanders through your gates and walls,

Walks through your front door, and enters your hall.

Weak minds, he sees no joy in that game,

He seeks souls stronger, those harder to tame.

He breaks them, and shatters them, but leaves the fame,

Then will another grip you, you shall soon know his name.

He wallows you and shakes those with stronger will,

His whispers can be heard on the farthest hill.

Evade him, you cannot, and him you cannot kill,

Lord Phobos will cage you and let you not sit still.

‘Tis true for all souls, both wicked and good,

But let this not shake you, but let it ground you where you stood.

Cupid’s Arrow

Most of us are too blind to see reality, before it hits us square in the face. Here’s to all you humans who still feel like novices, no matter how old you are.

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Sharp as a needle, light as a feather,

Flying straight and true, no matter the weather,

Cupid’s arrow strikes home and reaches rest

On the passing soul, wandering by, lest

He wanders away from the reach of pain,

Lest he leaves this place inexperienced, and sane.

With a pure heart untainted, and plain,

Before the wolf howls and the red moon wanes.

Wounded thus, his heart finds another,

Inflicted as he is, the same poison, but gathers

No antidote, no cure for there is none to find

For this craze, this insanity that catches him, blind

To all reason, all truth and sees love at its best

To see Lord Zephyros  fly towards the west,

To bring yet another victim, to his master’s gates

Where ‘all dreams prosper, and grief deflates’.

But all till that knife that is called heartbreak

Pierces his soul, and his puny hopes fade

And in its wake leaves his heart withered and bleak,

When his sighs of contentment sharpens into shrieks,

Gains he his sight, and sees the truth of the world.

Through himself, his story, that he saw unfurled.

And now ’tis his turn to lock away his heart,

To throw away the key, and act his own part.


Cold Death

He who flies over cloudy white skies, but sees the darkness too

Delivers us to heaven or hell, but does not follow through.

He whose velvet wings are strong and hung upon his back

He who carries souls in his arms with the eyes of the deepest black.

He charms and fascinates, but scares and frightens poor humans weak at heart,

One may be clever with the strength of ten men, but him they cannot thwart.

One may live, hate and love, but in time to him shall we go

The end is swift and approaching fast like a speeding silvery doe.

After which shall we fold into his arms, and he will row us across

The river of death and dreams lost, while the living mourn for our loss.

He is mercy, and he is kind, and lives he in paradise lost,

Him we call ‘Death’, whose eyes we shall see, before we enter the frost.

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The Lady Crumlowe (Part II)

This is the continuation of the story I published last time.

The Lady Crumlowe, is a noblewoman, with three children. Her husband goes off to war against Napoleon and his mighty armies, to defend his country, leaving the poor Lady  sorrowful, unprotected and frightened. The Lady however does not reveal this to her children, just saying that he went away for some business, and will return in a few months.

“I will never leave you”

These words echoed in her head over and over, reminding her of the sweetness of their love. But all too soon it went away leaving her already bruised heart hopeless and unprotected. They were one of those lucky couples who got what they wanted, in that ruthless era when women were disregarded and men were forced to uphold the legacies of their families. They got married with the blessings of all elders and their life together was  beautiful from the very beginning.

But in the darkest corners of her heart she knew that such happiness could only last so long. Tragedy has come upon them like a bitter winter wind that  wrecks houses and wreaks destruction. he had gone off to war, leaving her and their children alone in a vicious world. But there was still hope that he would return, despite the odds that are against him.

Her children, happily oblivious to the fact, were all in fairyland playing in “the garden of fairies” or so to speak. Their mother was watching them play and for a moment she forgot that there was a tomorrow to be faced, and enjoyed this moment where the happy laughs of her children filled the air around them.

“I shall save you, sweet lady from this evil monster!” Edward was saying. She quickly snapped out of her reverie and said, “I am eternally grateful, my prince!” Which was when Edward raised his wooden sword  and ‘smote’ the ‘monster’ and Maximus, feigning death, collapsed to the ground. A laugh of absolute mirth left her mouth in an instant and little Dana who was playing with the flowers joined her. Soon everyone was laughing so hard they were on all fours and gasping for breath.

“Milady, the Master has arrived,” a servant interrupted their joyous time.

The Master was the teacher of Maximus. He was a strict man but kindness was his most treasured trait. The Lady got up and dusted herself.

“Children, we must go in now.” she said. “Maximus has his lessons and you two can play in the nursery.”

“Mother it isn’t fair!” cried Maximus a wonderful boy though he was, had little liking towards lessons. she could not blame him, the Master was downright boring. Nevertheless she said, “Now now Max, that is no way to behave. Let us go inside.”

She left Edward and Dana at the nursery and made it to the drawing room with Max, where the lessons were to take place. There she greeted the Master politely and leaving Max into his care, betook herself to her private sanctuary, the library.

She sat on her usual seat by the window and opened a book, wanting to forget, even for a moment her troubles in life and to lose herself in another world. She sat reading for a while and was able to escape a little into the writings and the imaginations. But her thoughts about his safety crept back into her mind and made it once more, restless.

It has been five months since he left. There were no letters, no news of him. But the rumors about the war that circulated among the village folk, was truly horrible. Some said Napoleon’s army slaughtered the natives. Some said the noblemen had turned over to Napoleon’s side. She sat thinking thus, when a minute later the post arrived.

She opened them one by one. Most were appeals from the villagers about their harvest and such. But the last letter drew her attention. it was white envelope with the royal seal upon it. She opened it and started reading its contents.

Her hands that were holding the envelope started shaking. it confirmed her fear. it extinguished the last flame of hope that kept her going. Her husband was dead. the Native army had lost, and now, they were coming for its people to slaughter them and take over the country.

She could not hold it in any longer. All her courage, her brave facade washed away and her personality revealed itself. A frightened, clueless widow who had lost much, including herself.

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A/N : If you found this interesting, please check out my blog, and I will post the next part as soon as possible.

The Lady Crumlowe (Part I)

Have you ever wondered what it is like to die? Perhaps you have, perhaps you have not. This is a story of one of those people who never cared about death, who lived as though she would live forever. That is what most souls do these days, sad but true.

The sky was heavily clouded, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. One could not catch a glimpse of blue through them. The picture we look upon had a gloomy sense to it. A mansion in the middle of a grassland, a beautiful house with a gilded roof and square pane windows.

At one of those windows sat a our ‘she’, The Lady Crumlowe, looking down to the garden where a man was getting on a horse. Her husband, to be precise. The Lord Crumlowe, who was going away to war. Far in the plains of the North, where the enemy, the army of Napoleon awaited him and his comrades.

She tried not to think of his almost certain death, and allowed herself a single light of hope that might keep her going for some more time. She was a woman of steel and great courage and perseverance. She watched him gallop away on his steed, round the corner till he disappeared. she got up, out of the plush Venetian armchair she was sitting on, and made her way out of the library and into the hallway. she walked along, whispering a quick command to her servants to wake the children, and made her way to the Dining Hall for breakfast.

However the most pressing affair that is at hand, is how to break the news to her children. Poor little ruffians who cannot still understand the word ‘war’, little blighters who have not yet experienced grief or pain of any sort. It broke her heart to know that they should awaken to the truth of life in such a harsh manner, during such an early age. But she had no choice. Maximus Crumlowe, her eldest is only four years old and had the makings of a great man. His education has only started and had not yet come around to explaining what death was. She sat at the head of the table and silently waited for her children to arrive. First to enter was Dana, her daughter who was only two years old.

“Mother!” her voice rang sweetly and echoed all throughout the massive hall.

“Morning, my love,” greeted the Lady and lifted her into her arms. Her rosy cheeks were round and chubby and her small mouth has curled into a bright smile. Soon after Maximus and Edward came running in.

“Good Morning mother,” they said and smiled.

In that moment, she could not think to wipe their smiles off their faces. Her poor darlings who deserved every happiness life could offer. Then did Maximus ask the dreaded question.

“Where’s Father?” he said. She thought quickly and answered, “He is away on some business darling he shall return in a few months.”

“A few months?” exclaimed Edward. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“I do not know that, love but he will return soon” Her children seemed to be satisfied with her answer and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Let us have breakfast now, yes?”

They ate their breakfast in silence and she wondered how long she will be able to keep up the act.

A/N: The next part will be out soon

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The topic might be a bit sad, but this , is one of those poems of mine that tells my inner feelings. It is one of my better works that comes from the most well hidden corners of my complex heart. I enjoyed it. I hope you will too.

The dark, dying embers of  a burnt flame,

All its beauty gone to whence it came

A face of which the sorrow looked so profound,

One that held grief in every feature that’s around,

Its youth gone though it looked the same

With none to share, looking for one to blame.

Beautiful crystal tears flowing down her face,

Her heart inaccessible, not through her broken gaze

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That turns blindly upon a soul that is passing by

Unseeing, not perceiving her pale cheeks undry,

Thinking naught but feeling the pain that is inside,

She has nothing left within her, no sanity, no pride.

She roams an unknown world looking for a way to escape

Seeing no path, no road, no familiar shape

She has nothing left except her fractured mind,

Forever she weeps for her sanity she can’t find.

Freed of Tragedy

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The water of the lake a deep, deep blue,

The sky and sun above had an orange hue

The flowers that bloom are kissed by the day,

While a sorrowful young lad travels away.

The hooves of his horse treads the muddy ground,

He is long away from home with his heart heavy and bound

To his love, a fair maiden back in his hometown,

With lips of pure red, her hair a lustrous brown.

She refused his love and broke his innocent heart,

T’was his time to awake to pain in his part

Of life, he thought as he rode his gallant steed,

Away from his sorrow, his pain and his greed

Till he came to the lake of deep, deep blue,

The sky and sun above had an orange hue.

There he hung his heart on the highest bough of a tree

Then he rode back home finally freed of tragedy.