Merciless captains, and faceless sailors, of rudderless ships.
The seas teeming with sharks,
Vultures in the skies above, eager,
To swoop down upon the dead.
(‘tis indeed a feast to be had)
Captains goad us onward,
The faceless figures simply do their bidding.
They promise us riches beyond measure,
They speak of wondrous lands,
Eternal joy, transient pain,
We shall have our fill and be merry.
They say the streets are paved with gold-
With gold!
All out efforts, towards the quest for riches,
(What is the use of wealth if we do not seek
to buy?)
A lonely(?) forlorn, faceless man,
Grew weary of tyranny, and decided
To brave the open seas on his own.
In his dreams he heard,
The song of a siren,
Voice clear as the purest ice,
Cold, thing of beauty.
The siren beckoned him
To come to her-and live
In a land where the grass
Was always green, the waters clear,
The sun shone radiant, the breeze-
It was all so mesmerizing.
Ans thus he set sail on his own,
Braving the fiercest storms,
As well as the worst
Of doldrums- the siren’s voice
Guiding him, giving him
Vigor and will.
As he came unto the siren at last,
He saw her face- the crystal voice,
The radiant aura, all that he had
Ever wished he would want.
But as he came closer and closer,
He felt suffocation, the golden voice,
Turning to vicious screams, curdled his blood,
He saw to his horror, piles of dead, faceless men,
Rotting, the vultures fed on their carcasses.
He knew he could do nothing,
But be drawn into, drawn to his
Slow and agonizing death, that which he chose
On his own.
And thus we find ourselves, being lead, or on our own,
Into the inevitabilities of annihilation.
We may fill ourselves, keep running, or stop,
Nobody gets out of here alive.
ShriViews 