Saturday, February 28, 2015

The Ballad of the Mead King

He rode on a dragon with a flagon in hand
He saw what they've done; destroyed all his land
It filled him with anger and vengeance he sought
He brought out his axe; its iron still hot

He traveled through plains and mountains he climbed
To find those responsible was on his mind
Not moved by cold wind he cut through the mist
Dusk or dawn, just him and the beast

He picked up a trail after dreary, long weeks
His fire still burning the scars on his cheeks
He followed the path, to old ruins it led
He felt their presence, those soon-to-be-dead

Hungry and thirsty but not for the food
He entered the lair like he knew he would
His dragon stood watch and waited for him
It trusted its master, its friend, to the brim

Soon he encountered his wretched old foes
Slain them one by one, made his way through the halls
Axe in full swing; he was a hailstorm, a flood
Soles of his boots soaked in the blood

The innermost chamber remained to be cleared
The leader of traitors there cowered in fear
No use was to beg for mercy at all
For the axe sank deep and split open the skull

All the destruction, the chaos, the screams
It caused the ruins to crumble it seemed
Among falling rubble he dashed toward light
He lept off the ledge, saw his dragon in flight

His glory reignited; his name sung again
He was a hero to the people, true king of his men
Upon the completion of the most glorious of deeds
He retreated with his dragon and drank all the mead

Friday, February 27, 2015


It's an echo. This loud, familiar, repetitive sound.

THE sound. THE echo.

It's been here before. It always comes back.

We know it all too well.

After all, it made us into what we are today.

Way before we heard it we were shapeless.

Featureless objects floating in the water.

Flat like its surface.

Nothing deep about us.

Our fates yet to be determined.

Until we clashed.

Drifted for so long we were bound to clash.

That's when the sound happened.

It carried over the water, through the air, into the deeps.

We were left in awe... We woke up into the world.

Afraid of the unknown. Excited by the unknown.

Accompanied by the sound.

Way back then it was a melody.

I remember it to be a melody.

A masterfully composed collage of meaningful notes.

Every one of them was special.

Precious. Timeless. Glorious.

It kept on moulding us patiently.

Sculpting us and teaching how to live.

Day by day.

Until it crashed.

Something broke it, broke the record.

We didn't know when or how or why.

Woke up to it being reduced into the echo.

The echo we're hearing now. Just a snippet.

On an endless loop.

A faded memory. Shadow in the distance.

We're never getting back what we've lost that time.

We can only listen to a fraction of it.

Separately. It no longer binds us.

Hearing it is like putting a glass shard to our ears.

It cuts deep.

Constant reminder of days past.

Of what we've lost.

I wish it would stop.

I want it gone. Gone for good. All of it.

All what's left of it.

So I'm trying to get rid of it by myself.

No luck yet.

But I think... with a bit of help...

From someone else out there.

One day I will listen to a full melody again.

Even make it my own one.

If I can be so bold.

A better one.

With a bit of help.

Compose it with someone.

Our own melody.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015


He wasn't told to go away.

He was chewed up and spat out.

Out of the window.

Sent plummeting towards his demise.

Face down into a brick road.

Yet somehow survived.

Bid his time.

Climbed back up.

Kept knockin' on the window.



They closed the shutters.

Crushed his fingers.

Sent him flying down... again.

How many times can he fall?

How many times can anyone fall?

Someday he will stop.

Cease to exist.

Sooner or later.


Become extinguished.

Everything has an end.

His end is the end of his everything.

His everything will be the end of him.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015


I can't stay here any longer. I have to leave, put the place behind me. Jump into a car and smash the rearview mirror. Fire up the engine and cast off with the screech of tires.

Don't look back.

Never come back.

Coming back... It would mean death.

The place... it became something else. At first, its foundations were laid unbeknownst to anyone, a quiet work on the side, at night, with nobody watching, nobody noticing anything. Beautiful craftsmanship, unlike any I have ever seen was being brought into life during long nights that seamlessly blended into early mornings. It was like a summoning spell bringing the best a different dimension had to offer. The place kept on developing, stacking up on walls and floors, reaching higher and higher every night, every day, every time.

After a while, the people who made it and turned it into their home... they invited me in. Frankly, up to that point I have been looking for a place like that all my life.

So when the question was asked, batting an eyelid wasn't even an option. I moved in.

Jumped in with both feet and dove in.

What a decision that turned out to be. If I was to make it again I would do it a thousand times over.

Everything good that ever happened, happened in the place. Initial fears turned out to be unsubstantiated. Things went smoothly. Things were beautiful. People were beautiful. Wonderful things, wonderful people, palpable emotions filled the interactions between me and them. I wanted it to last forever. I was ready to take it all in. I have given everything.

But the place... it became something else. Cracks started to show. People kept leaving the place and refused to come back. Their ranks, our ranks, grew thinner and thinner. They stopped caring, they stopped asking, stopped answering, just stopped. Slowly drifted away and took a sharp turn behind the horizon.

Worst part was I had no idea why.

Why? Why... WHY?

I guess what I've given wasn't enough to keep them.

I was left alone.

So today I finally gathered up the courage to look around me. I looked at the place for the last time. I'm still looking at it. It reminded me, still reminds me, of all that was ever good in my life.  Every wall, every inch, every empty space contained within the place is a relic of the past, a museum exhibition of happy, kind, silent moments that were no longer. It crumbled. Nothing is invincible. Nothing ever lasts.

That's the death.

Despite the pain it eventually brought, I still kept on believing that we could restore the place to its former glory. But the people... they wouldn't listen. I know they could hear me but they wouldn't listen.

They moved on and I stayed behind.

Now it's my turn to go.

I'm standing here, at the porch, with my luggage packed.

Torn. Lost. Confused.

I still believe...


I don't want to go but I have to.

I can't go but I want to.

I need to...

Staying at the place would drive me insane. I would live in everything that I wanted but was never meant to be.

That's... beyond my strength.

I wasn't strong enough. I'm too weak.

But it wasn't me who gave up on the place.

What difference does it make now...

Question is... What do I do now?

The people... I can barely hear them.

What are they saying?

Do I take the step forward? Into where? Towards what?

What if someone comes back to the place?

I don't want to leave......

I have to...

I can't, I can't, I can't