Silent night, boredom night

Another dark poem...typically used oxymorons n i've tried my hand at alliteration n personification...not really in the spirits to describe or elaborate further, jus give it a read... :l

It is a silent night, a night of boredom,

Even the leaves are too lazy to stir,

The stars wink from their heavenly kingdom,

The full moon, shrouded in haze, is a blur.

The trees stand solemn, steady and still,

As they yearn to reach out to a higher realm,

The wind sallies around, to add to the night's chill,

It already is pleasant enough, but no one to tell him.

The river gurgles through his shady haunt,

Even the smallest movement causes a slight,

The birds of the dusk cry, as if to taunt,

The deafening quietude that blankets the night.

The creatures of the dark go about their chores,

The predator stalks his unfortunate prey,

Amidst the chaotic harmony of the river's shores,

Closer to his unaware victim, he makes his way.

And then the silence is pierced, as with a knife,

As a bone-chilling human scream fills the air,

The bloodthirsty specter has again struck life,

Another corpse has been inducted into his lair.

But it is a silent night, a night of boredom,

The leaves bear witness but are too lazy to stir,

The stars look away, from their heavenly kingdom,

The moon, through the haze, could only see a blur.

Palanna's Poem :))..

recently something very funny happened in our coll...our chem HOD (palanna) had a clash with a teacher (Murthy)...the old airhead started it, so when it came to a head, he decided to resign, in the hope that the coll ppl would plead to retain him...well that din happen, n he got a farewell instead :))...today in class i was wondering what palanna might be doin at home n so i came up with this one (p.s. i don like the man) :P...n a heads-up fr non-RNSITians, he repeats everythin twice...

He fought with Murthy, although he was wrong,

He resigned thinking it would turn people his way,

The fact that it didn't, gives rise to this song,

What is Palanna doing at home today?

He'll be lugging around his wreck of a broken leg,

There's no one to listen to what he has to say,

He'll be depressed soon, and he'll down a peg,

What is Palanna doing at home today?

He'll sit and curse Murthy, then repeat it again,

Hoping he can somehow get back to work by May,

Admit to himself the resigning ploy went in vain,

What is Palanna doing at home today?

He'll list his achievements, it's what he does anyhow,

While realization sets in that this is how it'll stay,

So eventually he'll accept it and break down,

What is Palanna doing at home today?

And so his little saga shall come to a close,

As he shall settle to further days dark and gray,

He'll sit down to think, with a smile morose,

Palanna'll have to do something at home everyday.

What a wonderful world

ok, this is it...i strongly feel, my best piece to date. i especially became a personal fan of the last para, especially the last line (sorry fr the drippin narcissism :P)...iambic and trochaic rhythm and all that have gone for one BIG toss in this one, but i don't really care...in case anyone is wondering, yes its inspired by 'fear of a blank planet'...my work will continually be influenced my porcupine tree's lines, themes and ideas, get over it :P...hope ya'll like this one...

A wisp of light, I grope around for life,

In a world where anything can be got.

Serene outside, within me is the strife,

Everyday a losing battle is fought.

The anti-depressants course through my veins,

As I lay numb and wasted in that shady alley.

They keep me constant through the suns and the rains,

My new phone responds to human touch better than me.

When did I last feel joy, anger or pain?

When did I last feel anything at all?

Within this shell of a body that I maintain,

Where was the heart's flutter, whether big or small?

Drown myself in the pills, I hide behind the smoke,

Burning the bridges connected to the ones who care.

Afraid now, to feel, afraid what it will evoke,

I'm losing my way on my journey to nowhere.

It is the age of instant gratification, a self-absorbed generation,

Where a desire is fulfilled even before the yearn has begun,

The age of ignorance, in this explosion of information,

So much more knowledge, but so few have an opinion.

The music drones silently in my ear,

As I count the endless days and months by.

An urge for emotion is aroused with the passing years,

One that even sensual pleasures cannot satisfy.

And so, in this world with everything, but nothing,

Surrounded by people, I stumble alone, somehow.

If this, my only companion being me, is living,

Where are those advocates of human rights right now??

The Raven's Hopskotch

i know the title sounds like an oxymoron. u never write dark stuff like ravens in the same line as hopskotch. but that's exactly my attempt, to make hopskotch sound malignant :P...again, a creation in a very boring chem class on fuels :)), and as always, the usual 4X6 poem format (i think i wont be able to do anythin but that till i die :P)...hope u guys like it...

Pray that it should never land,

On the hallowed square of your name.

For then will fall upon you, death's hand,

As the raven plays on its macabre game.

With a hop, skip and jump, it'll seal your fate,

As its minions disperse to carry out its decree.

You have but to give in, without a word of debate,

You can plead or fight, but you will not be free.

But one wonders, is the claw that rises,

In death, the hand of Satan after all?

Whether the game isn't really full of surprises,

If it is already writ when you shall fall?

Should a life be led in the shadow of fear?

As your innocent universe spins and warps.

But the pleasures of existence are still too dear,

A life shallow is still life, a corpse still a corpse.

The high words and mighty courage of lore,

Are the possessions of men with nothing to lose.

But for the many meager masses, lies nothing in store,

Except for a hope that their plead is of some use.

Hence they pray that it should never land,

On the hallowed square of their name.

For then will upon them, death's hand,

As the raven plays forever, its macabre game.