Friday, April 16, 2010

Little Amsterdam.

It’s a little world of joy. No misery but only thrill. And the End result is nil. It's death they say.

Money flows in with every breath. Drug deals. They can kill you with a bitter-sweet death trap. The little stock exchange in the little city flourished. A little world of cannabis and wannabes. Few wise artists, actors they are. Pretense is their weapon. The unmistaken red-light. The little geishas, using lust, for life. Survival. Ah, a little heaven with a huge price to pay. There is no tension as cannabis dilutes the fourth dimension. Bliss. Bliss. And only Bliss, or it seemed so. A little world for The ‘Blessed Children’. A little Amsterdam. 



Its captivating how easily humans make their own illusionary world. They build their own walls to stay away from bad influences forgetting the basic fact that the concept of the world lies in facing and fighting the ugly clich├ęs.
They try to escape into the little Amsterdam fearing to face the truth. Just for the sake of staying ignorant and happy, they get forever locked into this vicious make belief world. They get used to it. They become sad. They don’t seek for reason. Greedy people. Stupid people. They must die. 

Emotional people. Good people. They are the vulnerable. In their little Amsterdam they are lost. They too don’t want the truth. It hurts them. They don’t fight. They submit to the Bad and The Greedy. They get their Cannabis. They are happy now. They don’t seek for reason too. They will die. 

Bad people. Shrewd people. (political people??) They are the architects of this little Amsterdam. They lure the other people into this vicious world. They control the little Amsterdam. They rule now. But someday they will fall. They will be the prisoners of their own device. Too much prisoners. Too less space. It’s a little world. Hence they have to die. 

Death is the solution. Viva la revolution. 

Practical people. They don’t live in this little world. They are boring and useless.
They are mere spectators to the little world’s misery yet envies it.

This is because that little world of big-misery will always have a story to tell.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Through the translucent glass of yore.

A Platoon of Red
Very well fed.
A battle for scope
With a little dope
And victory for Reds’
Salute Marx and other Comrades!
And there was you,
The halo of radiant hue;
Dancing for the vicious victor.