The Remains. Poem by RAJ VIKRAM

Being a witness to the
funeral of aspirations is an
every day game where victory
is guaranteed and the prize
is the charred remains of
nipped yearnings interred in
an urn which could be kept
as a warning to posterity to
be positively inclined to
cultivate a negative picture
of the process that gets
passed of or named as life.

Maimed, scarred and sheared
and left with bare skeleton,
life holds no colours or hope.
Harmony is a lie, symphony
is a myth and cacophony is
the bare reality which is shrill
enough to render the ears deaf.
Sights are horrendous,
eyes are shuddered as to
disentangle willingly and with
ease from the battered remains.
Skeleton too dismembers.

What remains, well just remains,
unintelligible to senses,
beyond the realms of cultivated
understanding of the myth that
life of course is in every sense.
When alive and in full throttle,
be the priest who mumbles
mantras galore, of liberation,
and along with it be a witness
as aspirations are burned to ashes.
Then rapturously blurt out and mock
the advocates who hold life dear.