Throne

To forfeit all that once,
Did burn inside my mind
As a flame that kindled
The hunger for glory to find,
Would be to forsake all
That I have lived to die for,
As its true worth is but
Something I would not lie for.

To drown in my sorrows,
Would be to cede to mortality,
Which preys upon my soul
As a demon that breeds depravity
And destroys those desires
Which beckon me to be divine,
Only to break upon existence
As a lost mirage never to be mine.

To find my soul in chains,
Would be to fall from great might
To a fate of ordinary shadows,
With no glimpse of divine light
That I know we all long for
In our quest for the unknown
Which will only be kindled,
Until death does accede your throne.

By,

Nikhil Menon

The Glory Of Men

As I walk amongst them,
I realize that they are not
The reasons for their indiscretion.
They were once my foes;
My friends; My brothers;
My only means of some salvation.
They are but children-
The young and the old,
Who know not where the truth lies.
They are weak at heart,
And broken in mind.
To them age, is but a disguise.
They wage wars not for
Quarrels great, but only
To satisfy their worldly desire.
They live with dreams of
Divinity and glory profound.
Their divinity shall burn on their pyres.

By,

Nikhil Menon

To Be Reborn

Would I be lost in a world
Where Gods are men, and men - gods?
Or would I break free, and
Escape these chasms of divine realism?
Would my whims lead me
To the edge of reason and the brink of faith?
Or would they but epitomise,
The lack of foresight man has embraced?

Would I be bound in the chains
Of an apostacy of man and his mind?
Or would I fly with the rest
On the wings of an unknown angel?
Would I shun these torts of
Mortal weakness that plagues us all?
Or would I shun my very
Mortal roots themselves, to embrace death?

Would I live to be what
Many would believe I live for?
Or would I burn those dreams,
And walk among the minds that reason?
Would I be another slave
To live my life in the shackles of thought?
Or would I be reborn in
The purest existence I know - me?

By,

Nikhil Menon

The Prophet's Own

I would only heal myself,
With the promise of your own.
For I see no purpose in all
That i once believed was sacred.
I mock not, that which once
Served to many as a beacon of hope.
It is your fate, but, it still
Burns to be within MY barren existence.

I would only preach to them,
Who do cherish all that will fade.
I only long to find them when
They will fall fr0m where they lay.
This isn't my soul to break,
Within the shadow that is my bane.
For all that walks today as hope,
Withers into the dust that you will fall in.

My only purpose now is to be
That which you seek in salvation.
For it is my mind that speaks to me
As a voice beyond the realm of mortal sense.
Where I walk now, I will find my grave.
Where I speak now, i will fall in silence.
I will not weep but still I will shed,
These tears that are the prophet's own.

By,

Nikhil Menon