Welcome to my Poetry Board

History is written by the victors

But the unheard are way more than those who have lost

Why do you think Alexander the Great is hated?

Or Napoleon Incarcerated?

After all they won!

But the truth is, those who have lost their loved ones

In the face of war, need someone to vent their anger out on

And they can't do it to those who lost the war, because they have been perished

So it becomes the victors being the ones hated, in the very history they have written!

While gazing at the stars, I realized the endless beauty resembles you,

Your softness feels on the skin like moonlight do

Emanating the warmth of the summer sun

You're like a celestial being, on whose watch the heavens turn

The scent of the flowers and the grass dew

The nature bows down, when it crosses paths with you

My head is full of thoughts,

O sorrow, my old friend.

Sleepless I lay on my bed,

The night is about to end.

The streaks of light first trickle through the window,

The sun shall now rise.

But eyes wide awake, lost in my mind

O Fatigue, of the wise.

The circles beneath my eyes,

Darken more and more

Reminiscing of the old days,

O Glorious Past, I adore.

Please leave me in the darkness,

sad and alone

For I am a failed son,

who never shone

Please leave me in the darkness,

cold and scantily clad

For I am a failed lover,

who never loved with the mighty heart he had

Please leave me in the darkness,

a failure and a bastard

For I am a failed student,

who could never understand the ways of his master

Please leave me in the darkness,

In disdain and in dismay

For I am a failed artist,

Whose art never seen the light of day

Please leave me in the darkness,

In the moral shades of grey

For I am a failed hunter,

Who couldn't even kill his prey

Please leave me in the darkness,

Away from the warmth and light of a fire

For I am a failed warrior

Who couldn't even save his empire

Please leave me in the darkness,

Defeated and overthrown

For I am failed king,

Who couldn't even claim his throne.

The heavens shall weep over your death

The soil shall blossom flowers over your soul

Honored are those who rest in the snow

For it's the purest form of message

The heavens can bestow upon the Earth

The seasons will come and go

But your sacrifices shall remain immortal

Walk down the path you have paved for yourself

And the blisters on your feet will be remembered

For generations to come!

May the sun be gracious when you rise

May the winds whisper when you march

May the clouds be gone when you rest

May the flowers bloom when you come back

The knight's armor gleams tonight

In the light of death and war

The knight's sword stains itself

with the blood of usurper

The knight may celebrate a glorious victory

Or the knight may lay down in the inevitable history

May the kings kneel when you walk into their hall

May the ballads be sung long after you're gone

May your lips be smiling when the moments final come

May your heart be wailing when your victim's pyre burnt

The knight marches with his army in the stained battlefield

Where thousands had cried and gone

The knight rests tonight in the stained soil

His breastplate heaves one last time, before the break of the dawn.

Beauty is Subjective

It's the impression of soul

How you perceive the world around you

The colors of the sky and sounds of the birds

The bark of a dog or a cat's purr

You define what you find beautiful

But in the end, it's still abstract and wishful

Because

What's a painting to a man

Who can't perceive its story

What's an old chapel to a man

Who can't understand its history

What's fashion to an animal

Who wears no clothes

What's the nature to a man

Who stays indoors

That's what beauty is

Understood by one, yet understood by none

It's the impression of brain

How you see yourself and people around you

It's his woman for a man in love

Under the golden sun and the blue rain

Because

What's her eyes to those

Who can't see them under the glimmering moonlight

What's her hair to those

Who can't see them waving in the wavering wind flight

What's her hands to those

Who can't hold them in their own

What's her smile to those

Whom she doesn't bestow her sweet soul