The Movement.

The fanatic rode the snake in his blue bus,

so did the cobain doped himself so early,

there was no voodoo child left anymore,

because they were involuntarily called by him.

They marched with the freedom of independence,

rode on to any vehicle they could get,

passed on their thoughts to anyone they reached,

left a mark on anyone who called them and were preached,

stop calling names, those hollow gloomy faces,

instead realise the deep tranquility of reality,and reach for the inner-visions of the sorroundings,

The day when the souls preach the notions and thoughts,

that day his all battles are fought.

with all the leather and strings they fought amongst the mortals,

the words they threw and raged those sleeping machines,

drunk and dressed they brought the stage to a fire,

to rise up against all those who tried to bring down THE movement......

Push the Tempo

Push the Tempo

Falling from the heights I’ve reached,

I’ll push the ground deep beneath me,

To reach the end more till the end,

To touch the ground the way I want to feel,

This is not the end of line,

It has just begun to uncover the shine

The fine brine of that wine,

Which we always dreamt of tasting till we last,

Resting beneath my wheels,

Are my marks which I left on the road,

The road that led to the jungle.

Where I could find all that I lost in a bundle.

Don’t crowd your thoughts on my shadow,

It’s too weak, weak, enough for me to hold on,

I see the sky leaning on those trees,

And those seem like they are free.

6th Harmony

Push the boxes inside that maze,

and bring to surface the waves of the haze

Freedom of the air, the wings of the butterfly,

they clasp the wisdom flying high in the sky,

With dignity and glory I let my pride fly high,

along the sea shores and the pebbles lie my cries.

for the tranquility they impart, slowly in the air,

they won't last long, as they are hard.

reaching through that gold lit cave,

I see that rusted worned off shadow,

The shadow i wished would follow me for the rest of my life,

because that is what I searched in those long lost files.

Bleached Soul

Jump, hop, slip out from that narrow hole,
those never ending dried up basement vents,
cracks and vents blow the steam out of you,
the drugs help them to widen there horizons.

Lost control to the steering wheel,
eyes were red shot and blood gushed furiously,
the white powder, a gazeless stare, million thought,
endless instincts but the small brain.

Destination is far away, the route is wide,
fuel is full, the tyres are empty, no air,
shaken stirred took on the wheels with a flair,
With the bold step he took he felt a new divide.

High, from life, from the pages he left behind swirling,
embarking upon a new voyage, full of twisted empty barrels,
got many blind and countless stares down the road he took,
but with one mission in his mind all these surplus he clung on to the hook.

With the sun overhead and the screeching of those empty tyres,
made sure he never lost control of the handle,
his mojo was way above the level to wrangle,
his feet touched the ground and leveled the air above his head.