Pseudo Writer

A good man, is not born an angel. He carries instinct to survive and is vandal. He is shaped by those around, to become better than how he was found. This process gives him, what makes him good, and gives him reasoning to do, what he should. But darkness and light both he carries, light he brims while dark he buries. Take from a good man, what makes him good, and the angel will wear the devil's hood. Experience the light leaving his soul, And watch darkness occupying that hole. He shall fall; someone else shall rise in the dark, having nothing to lose, fear's territory shall he mark. A bad day of a good man, shall seek the future with the world torn, and this is all it takes, for an undefeatable monster to be born.                                  - Sushant Kumar Das

I can't recall, if it was a day filled with mystery or misery, I realised that day, something kept following me. I had that feeling for quite some time, as if I had known it, as if I had heard it's chime. Some days I felt it brought moments of pity, but some days, I felt it brought sadness for eternity. Some nights it let the moon shine as if it was mocking me, while some days it made everything dark, even when it was sunny. It was an idea, a concept that shook the human brothers, It said that some lives were worth more than the others. This concept was against the ideals of humanity, but then why was our history being written with this insanity? Every war that ever broke out, witnessed civilian deaths in bold letter , because the people who were the cause of war felt they were better. Never once did anyone win a war, all they got was loss. The decision of sacrificing lives, was no more than a matter of toss. How did this idea survive? This was t...

 I went there, and not alone, I carried some entities that were long gone. I found myself breaking piece by piece, few of them belonged to that place I reached.  I heard it, in the roaring silence that surrounded, the echos started booming, that I once had grounded. I found myself waking up from a sleep, it was an alarm, I had to unknowingly keep.  I met them, after a time I couldn't quantify, a moment, neither as happy or sad could it qualify. I found myself trapped in a time leap. How alive those dead memories were, inside us deep.  It was a place I spent my childhood in, it was an old song, which was still trapped in.  They were my old friends, my heart they used to reside in. Life's balloon seems full, until pricked by the nostalgia pin.  It was not sadness that broke me piece by piece. Those pieces were trying to rejoin from where they were picked. No wonder I had locked those memories in my mind, as the pieces th...

Walking past the past, one shall stumble across a day, fears shall reach the deepest of souls, while the overlord stands at the bay. Two doors shall lie ahead, between which the truths shall be wired. A choice shall be made, and destiny shall be acquired. Who shall stand at this point, ironies may follow the one. The left may be right and right may not be the right one.  Shall one hear the voices that echo, shall one view the sights that surround, one will be cursed with senses possessed, and the true choice shall not be found. But shall one close his senses, shall one walk through one's soul, one shall find the choice that was right, and overlord shall provide one's role. Walking past the past, when one will stumble across this day, overlord shall not interfere in choices, but he shall show one, the way.                                            ...