Category Archives: fantasy

In time, heaven’s light crashes in on earth’s darkness. //symbolic writing//

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two ships flying in space a-tango
Earth and Heaven kingdom-ships
The Heaven ship could fly faster
But it kept close to the Earth ship

Often it would send power sparks
To give the Earth kingdom-ship a lift
Or Earth ship would have fared worse
The crew is the worst a ship could wish for

For long the two ships have been on parallel courses
Heaven’s Captain keeping a close watch
Because He has a stake in the other ship
For Earth carries unwilling captives of war

Left to the gods of the earth they’d run it aground
They resist heaven’s help even firing at it
They’d sooner crash earth than see the slaves free
Sadistic gods set against Heaven’s Captain

The Captain knew they’d soon hit the Hell Hole
But He would sooner crash his ship into earth
To get it off that self-destructive course
And He’d capture earth ship

He’d overthrow the lords of the earth ship
Free the slaves and set things straight
He’d force peace to reign aboard that ship
But the timing has to be right!

Advertisements

Art Games: Spirits On Mortals

A glass of milk Français : Un verre de lait

The Imp

The Imp (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The little spirit is in his element tonight
The wine is particularly sharp at night
He is a teetotaller though
His pet-monkey is not
But the spirit loves milk
And the milk is particularly white tonight
The monkey’s eyes now red with wine
The spirit’s teeth now white with milk
And as whenever he’s drunk on milk
Inspiration barges in through his door!

He doesn’t quite write in ink or bytes
He doesn’t write on paper or screen
That’s ordinary level art
He delights in skilfully weaving romantic fantasies
Into the mind of that lonesome teenager
Those are the most gullible sorts
He enjoys craftily presenting visions
Giving the uninitiated ones “spiritual” experiences
Making them believe they just had epiphanies
He fancies softly forming dreams
Which the sleeping man is kept busy with
Yet some live their waking lives under these dreams’ shadows
He favours sparking the writer’s imagination
“Eureka! Genius!!!” The poet screams
“Pawn!” the spirit sneers
He doesn’t mind teasing the artist
Making his head burst with “ideas”
That only render him insomniac without real result

Who shall sue this mischievous being
For Writing Under the Influence (WUI)
And his only defence:
He was performing advanced level art!
In drunkenness he had forgotten
That the Creator-Spirit watched in silence
A Spirit much smarter with a stranger sense of humour
“Artistic ingenuity” the little spirit commends himself
“Predictable imp” smiles the Supreme Spirit

Now how’s that for art!

Tribe-Wars: Spirits vs Mortals -letter from the River of Deathly Surrender

English: Mid tide, looking up river from Sea W...

The Enchanted Writer, who by his discretion once paused the narration of these letters from war he discovered, now continues:
We all had a white piece of cloth attached to our right arms as signs of our belonging to the clan. It was a symbol of our purity and consecration –a form of righteousness-marker. It was also a symbol of pride and dignity for us. I found it hard laying down my food supplies, given that I am a man of divine appetite (and your mother can tell you how profound my appreciation of good cuisine is). Letting go of my charismatic amulet was not that easy too, given my leadership position as a councilmember in the tribe (and you know how indispensable an enchanting tongue is for the politician). Also, I still liked my suavity which earned me the admiration of ladies, despite the fact I am a married man (and you may be familiar with that shameful desire to still feel in the game). I might as well say these now and come clean. Besides, I am not expecting to return. If I do, all well. But, my life is poured out to this war. Son, letting go of this white cloth for a blood-soaked one was unthinkable. We were asked to tie this blood-soaked cloth around our right war-trained muscled arms. Need I say some of us did rather stick with our recognized values and self-righteousness rather than throwing out the last shreds of honour they had.

My deeply rattled fellows who made it through later told me of so many other things they faced at the boarding. The painful things they had to let go. Imagine the pain with which a colleague told me he let go of his carefree attitude which was attached as a tuft of feathers to his head. He was the type to live an aloof life from behind a glass –untouched by all; attached to none. It was easy for this colleague to join the warriors because he had no hooks to life. He was almost immune from pain. Imagine how the sorting went for him. Like I said, the sorting was individualized to each’s weaknesses.
Now, I understand why it is called the River of Deathly Surrender. We did not die; but the things we had to give up made dying seem for a moment a lighter deal!
We waved goodbyes to our comrades as the ship left the port.
Son, I could swear with horror that I saw some of the violent spirits swoon on the warriors who turned away, seeing as the “kind” spirits had left the region with the ship.
Now, we are off in the ship,
Completely as the mercy of these strange beings,
We have to learn to trust.
I was allowed to send this letter to you.
Pray for us, Son. Please, pray for us.

To prevent wearing out the readers, the Enchanted Writer pauses his narration once again.

Tribe-Wars: Spirits vs Mortals -Letters From The River Border

Dear Son, Before I lose myself in the depth of all that’s unfolding here, let me ask how the tribe is doing. I hope everyone at home is doing fine.
Here goes: like you know, the journey began at the River of Deathly Surrender. We had crossed the Lake of Beginnings with our canoes. Then we approached the River of Deathly Surrender. It would be a misnomer calling it a river. It bore promises of the horrors of a violent ocean. Using canoes across this river would easily make us sitting ducks. Even though we approached the river en masse, we each had to board the ship individually. The ship was manned by spirits which though were of a different sort from the violent slave masters. We were all treated alike. No respect was paid to anybody. The tribe chief was asked to drop his royal war headgear. I felt sorry for the poor man. He was never even supposed to use anything else besides the Helmet of Salvation. The sorting out issues were the highlight, and some of the violent spirits came to grace the event. Unable to approach the ship, they contentedly hovered nearby seeming to enjoy watching us even dare to successfully board the ship. We may have paid them more heed if we didn’t have something even more difficult to deal with. Son, it was tough letting go of some of those loads:
Food provisions of self-dependence –plans we had made for ourselves banking on our supplies, on ourselves, to meet our needs. We would be banking only on the food aboard the ship. We would be learning to rely on the crew to provide our meals for us as at when they think we need it. You can understand how tough it was, knowing we would be completely dependent on strange beings to take care of our needs. We only knew they were not harmful as it were, but some of us who weren’t sure this was enough to trust them politely declined and stayed back;
Good look (or rather, good luck) charms and charismatic amulets. Impressive personalities and sweet talks did not tilt these spirit-guards one bit. I am not sure they will daze the warring spirits we are going to meet either. Don’t get me wrong, Son. You can keep your stunts seeing you might need them to woo your future wife;
(Using his discretion, the Enchanted Writer who was given access to these letters decided to pause his narrative here, to keep the readers from tiring out.

Thank you.)

Tribe-Wars: The Mortal Tribesboy’s Prayer

The warriors sail off today,
To secure the liberty of our souls
From the dark spirits that haunt us,
Periodically floating in to take of us into slavery.
They load themselves into canoes
Bound for the land of the spirits across the River of Deathly Surrender.

Dear God of our ancestors,
Their arrows can’t kill even a spirit-watchdog.
Their shields can’t parry a stone missile from the spirits.
And that, if they don’t lose their lives to the bloody River.
(Pardon my swear-word, God!)
Would even having nuclear warheads better our fate?
(Rhetorical question, God!)

I ask for your help.

You supplied the Helmets of Salvation.
You forged for them the Breastplates of Righteousness.
You said they should wear the Belts of Truth.
You told them to cover their legs with the Gospel of Peace.
You instructed them to attack only with the Swords of the Spirit.
You provided the Shields of Truth as the only effective defence.

I know you have tried your very best for them.
Even now, I don’t know how to plead their cause,
Seeing as some have resorted to other means,
Relying on their skills and science,
And learning of other nations
Whose ways have not even helped those other people.

But, err… God

Hmm… Just, please, God…