The Path Is Wrong Poem by VEDA ARTHA

He said that we are on our way to heaven
So I made it grand and special, the journey.
He told me tales of immortal love, pure and bliss
But was seeking the mortality of his needs.
He pledged that his love is at zenith
But his eyes were going deeper into skin
He trusted that I will be quiet as it has to be
Until I alarmed him that the path is wrong.
He assured that he had been to that place
And showed me the burnt marks in his heart
They were painted, forged and faked,
but rationality had left me in dark.
I thought that he is right as I am novice
And I had the history of recurring mistakes.
So I took his word as my holy verse
And those stories as epitome of love
I was disturbed by the intensified darkness
I asked him how long will it takes?
He was looking at me in a fire
That I have never seen in him ever
I repeated the question, a bit louder.
I felt deep within me, in a high tone
the path is wrong, it is indeed true.
His hands were getting across my trembling heart
He had put a rope of insecurity on my thoughts
I was made to smoke his sinful prejudices
and I was made to drink the malice and sorrows
He told me to be in despair, burning hopes
He said me that the smell of ash is ecstatic
As long as his heart is barren and I am prey
I said to myself when he was closing my eyes
after the virginity of my freedom was lost
and I was enslaved as a living catacomb
that the path was wrong, it was indeed wrong.