True Lies

Cold empty chairs on the empty table, he showed me,
Boxing awaiting candles, and unopened wine, he weeps,
“Son”, he says, “Even after losing a leg, I stand strong and proud”,
Kept himself sitting in the wheelchair, heart beating so profound,
With smile on his lips, and tears in his eyes,
He told me all about the haunting true lies,
Dusted glasses, creased maps, pictures safe from the time,
He told me about his brethren, about his brothers and child,
“I was saved from the redemption, saved for salvation,
This is where we last met alive, where we stood on our legs, with heads high,
Now, they stay six feet under this very room, under this very table,
Where I intend them to join, where I buried them with my bare hands”
He told me all, and showed me his plan, showed me the smiles of his brothers,
And sang me their revolution, drew me into his past of smothers,
They were convicted as vigilante for society, and soldiers for the poor,
For people from the gutter, from people with no one to share,
They were mistaken for foes, and named “Dangerous Barricades”,
They fought together, sang, drank and danced, but he couldn’t die with them,
“Heroes”, that’s what the winners called themselves,
He cried, not for the lack of a leg, but the loss of his brethren,
Humanity was what they fought for, and lost in the end,
“Protection”, “Honor”, “Pride”, “Safety”, and “Respect”,
These chants, they used in the opposition, to cast their spells,
He told me how “True Lies” won in the end, and nobody saw the bigger picture,
“We were casted from our castles, and taken our lives away,
Now, I sit here, with you, my son, and these empty chairs,
I sit with the phantoms of my brothers laying down the room,
Sleeping under the table, rejoicing in the heaven, where I join them”
He left, sleeping calmly, in that wheelchair,
And I warmed the empty cold chair in the empty table.

Passenger Cab Ride

Warming my arms, I sat next to my shadow,
Thinking, watching life running outside the window,
Being the passenger, I smiled and waved goodbye,
Asking the driver, to listen and ply,
Looking through the mirror, his eyes met mine,
I asked him to slow, to enjoy, to cherish, to smile,
He, smiled softly, yet fake through his wrinkled cheeks,
 I ignored, watching my shadow play with sunbeams,
It burned, healed, danced, camped with silhouettes,
Dawn as well as dusk befriended, together, they enjoyed,
Chuckled the white pale wrinkled lips, I looked upto the mirror,
Surprise to me, as he was warm yet cold, as if living yet withered,
He laughed at shadow and its playfulness, while he paced,
Rushing to reach the destination, I wanted to enjoy, but he wanted to haste,
 I couldn’t steer, sitting in the back of this passenger cab,
I was the passenger, and he, just some wrinkles on face,
“Cracks from experience”, he told me,
But, I didn’t understand and kept watching,
“At this age, where my destination collides with yours,
Haste is my answer, and silently captivating is yours,
While your shadow screams for you, and lives for you”,
He said it all, I sat there clueless, watching into the mirror of dew,
As dew covered it, his fake smile kept me glued my eyes onto his,
And, he listened to me once, silently, we reached,
My shadow, vanished, and he waited for me to deboard,
Silently, his wrinkles increased slightly,
Silently, he smiled once more, fake yet warmly.