Heart Controller

“ Elegance is a form of a walk, Should always be associated With, I would say, arrogance, Indeed, only few would be Part of the upper loyal class, And it all starts from a walk, It is a must in this sick society, To distinguish us from them, For I will never make a turn If they are leeching around, Never should filth be mixed With any aristocratic human. ” A piece of art written beside A grave that is very similar To the grave lying next to it, How ironic will it be if both Repelled each other’s scent, And chose to walk a path Of agony in a diseased era, Only to realise that death Not only did it not do them Part, but also kissed fate On its cheeks removing all Forms of human elegance. Tuesday, 23 rd of June 2015

She sits in a big diner, Red roses on the walls, She orders something, Ah yes, a cold milkshake, Crushed with strawberries, Crimson for a colour, From a unique plant, It is said that it got that Particular colour from A sacred blood of a Prince drenching the Soil of a blessed forest, And today’s special Will be hers’ alone! Tuesday, 23 rd of June 2015

O philosophers! O realists! O builders! O destroyers! Ask the ancient Earth how humans became survivors, It will not speak but a performance of a shocking play That continuously never stopped for millions of years, Starting with a brownish grey seed to form a green stem, From which perfectly shaped leaves and small buds That would bloom into gorgeous flowers, but listen, My friend, the Earth is still acting on that enormous stage, Specific points on the branches would start to thicken, And a form of a bud will start to grow into a pomegranate, An imperfectly delicious fruit from shades of red and yellow, A scene or maybe a chapter out of an enormous novel, But here you are standing on this ancient crust of Earth To mutter words of gunshots so that you win a debate, And since I am but a humble pacifist, I accept my fate Of becoming an actor within Earth in this shocking play. Monday, 11 th of May 2015

Tremble for giants created islands of lava, Roar for children buried alive as a ritual, Behold, the moon darted through the shooting stars, A sign to erase wishful hopes from this Earth, Humanity, a lost cause, beings living in despair, Of the history’s greatest time, pages burnt to ashes, As if the giants were vultures scavenging for few brains, And for a moonless world fated into the dark abyss, I shed boiling tears and turn to a new page. Friday, 1 st of May 2015

I passed a shabby little town, Intrigued by its damp colours, Revisiting my lonely footsteps, Cobblestone-covered streets, Narrower than horse carriages, Ruled by thousands of crows, And nothing else mattered, Windows: shadows of grey, Doors: barred beyond reach, As if a town for a gothic play, Staged for lives in despair, Neither whispers nor silence, As the last man standing falls. Tuesday, 21 st of April 2015