Podium of ice

A label stuck on my chest, plated in gold

Reads my name on it, printed in bold.

Yes, I stand here and I am the winner,

Underneath me stands the world, the so called loser.

It’s a buyout and it’s a sale.

A ruthless trade of world so pale.

The merchandise even sold death at sanctum

But nothing could buy a life at any premium.

A specific fun was the battle of guns,

Lethal fire of arms, without a sound

I exchanged the mental games with many,

The wars ended with winners,

Losers died or ran with their shoes wary.

Such was the path to fame,

Something to blame or is it just a game.

Those who played it without the fear

If nothing, at the end had their eyes very clear.

Defeat was unknown and I became ruler,

Won every race and felt immortal.

Cemeteries were the steps for me,

In the competition to reach the top.

When I reached there I was left to wonder,

What were all those graves for?

Was that fiery kill just for this cold thrill?

Can I stay here for any length on my own will?

An eternal pale white surrounding me,

Underneath my feet it started melting.

I couldn’t stand it nor could I run

The cold inside, lit me to burn.

Was it a superfluous desire or a blatant cliché.

The end had to be a cold sellout with the buyer to burn.

As I realized I reached the summit,

That sold so many deaths, to buy a life

Win was a misnomer and life, miss-spelt

There was nothing but that cold touch,

I knew I stood on the Podium of ice.

Posthumous Phantasm

A palette full of colors,

Burgeoning in my eyes,

My feelings I could mirror,

In those beautiful dyes.

It was a chaotic passion,

Worked like an industrious mason.

The pandemonium was just a premise,

It inflicted in me, a benevolent malice.

It wasn’t a palace of clichéd verve,

The impulsive fantasy numbed my nerve.

A colorful joy ride of my fingers,

Painted the personified simplicity with fervor.

Frenzied by the creation of mine,

Kept it in my eyes and never let it on any line.

Blind did I become to a dreaming world,

In the reality of my dream, my mind swirled.

Aloft I went sailing in my fanaticism,

Went high and sailed into a frantic prism.

It split my colors and threw me back down,

A cast away into reality and I had to drown.

Choked to death, in the air of falsity,

I am lost in reality and dead in passivity.

Mortal is the world and my passion, immortal.

Life of mine lies in the reality of virtual.

Abstruse to comprehend by the realism,

I am dead but a posthumous phantasm.

The GOLIATH

In the Armageddon of death,

An unprecedented war is on cards.

A game is gonna be played,

On the cemetery of peace.

The battle of sorts, as bewildering it’s gonna be,

Like a hurricane liquidating a desert.

A war between the king of heat and the knight of cold

But they fight with exchanged souls.

A desert is cold deep inside and

A hurricane is burning heat within.

On one side stands the reckless destroyer,

Sucking blood and being ruthless.

With the shining sword of devour,

The king of immense prowess.

This time the king will face him,

On the other side stands maverick of salvage.

The king of desert had enough heat and fire.

The hurricane bought the cold water, to kill it entire.

But the king fought back with a hellfire inferno,

Vaporizing the cold but suffered a deep dark burrow.

The battle was no longer a fight of force,

But the longed tangle of exchanged souls.

Heat was the symbol of persistence,

Cold is to be impulsive and break with lack of prudence.

“I came to you, challenging your commotion.

The ashes turning white, the fiery sand of destruction.

I had the exchanged soul and your ignorance had to bow,

My body would die I knew,

But I killed your soul.”

The god worshiped as fire lies dead and cold,

The white fiery sand turns gray cold ashes.

He took the battle on with symphony of valor,

Destroyed the god with false soul and exposed his color.

He showed the end to the deficiency of god,

And hence named, GOd LIberating ATHeist, the “GOLIATH”.