Final Visions

That gun starts pointing at me again
The curse from the Babel has struck its blow
I stay here on the cold ground waiting for the last trumpet

The trail of the final trumpet is approaching!
We celebrate the Doomsday here
Wish my baby a diabolic smile
To do a gentle trick of the beheaded lizard

The dreams are worth the frightening end
The screams are squashing me to end
Spare no time!!
Spare no words!!
Keep on growling on the ground
Keep on feeling the cold world

Dream wilter has come already
Submit to him our final challenges
Let him preside over our silly qualms!
Let him decide what rolls first
Our heads or our hands!


I scribbled the lines on to the mobile . That time I was about to explode. The stifling emotions wanted a valve to escape. My words were not reaching anywhere. Language was becoming a barrier infront of me. I thought human emotions could permeate through all the linguistic superficialities. But my convictions failed me. I couldn’t break through the protective layer of language and words.

Resigning to my own shell I could feel the burning heat of furnace. Back to lyrics of Jim Morrision my alter ego I felt like crying. I wanted to sing ‘Spanish Caravan’ to instill in me the peculiar stage of hope. I couldn’t , all I listen was the nightmarish visions about the end.The image of a revolver pointing at me was recurring all the time. I wanted to write a rock lyrics for Jim if he could sing in the other world. And this poem resulted.

I wont call this one a poem either , ‘poetry.com’ kept it for one week and purged it afterwards and still I could see many trivial and useless web of poetry hanging still there. Chronogically this poem must have come first on the blog, but it happened otherwise.