TRUTH BENEATH THE LIES, TILL WHEN?

TRUTH BENEATH THE LIES
The saints we kiss are the sinners we hate,
Morals we see without a peek at the gate,
Meekness as clothes are for wolfpack to wear,
Calm to the eyes yet brutes like a bear.

Empty to life is the arsenal of swears,
A lifeline exhausted to roll back true tears,
Green are all grasses with man-made unknown,
Realness we dump just to chase down the clones.

Thin lane we dump for the broad way of doom,
In blend of good for the badness to loom,
Hunger keeps us far from the tree with no fruit,
With none to detect the real depth of the root.

Perfect we claim yet novice on code,
Aboard a joyride with morals out so cold,
Darkness portrayed as the brightest of day,
Fake we embrace for acceptance to pay.

The cupboards we own shelter cobwebs unseen,
Innocent are the faces with a spirit unclean,
Bones strong and weak all buried so deep within,
Yet foul in disguise act so pure without sin.

Imperfect design is humanity to life,
Yet guilt turns out judge with pointed finger like knife,
Green are all grasses with features distinct,
No matter the good, bad lose not its instinct.

Judge not a dirt till your cupboard is clean,
Paddle your vessel and leave others to breathe,
Mysterious is life with lessons to be learnt,
Mistakes are for sure, so stick to your game.

TILL WHEN?
Beaten and drenched in the rain of thoughts,
Merciless was the haze that came tumbling behind,
Troubled days don't seem to end,
On they come through hills and bends.

No day goes by without a menu of pain,
Served up in dishes so broken and vile,
Sweet in disguise to the sourness of taste,
No option but eat to end up not starved.

Married to life are patience and ease,
Released to us are hurdles and haste,
Green to the eyes is the pasture of fate,
Yet arid and dry when the journey begins.

Mud puddle became the stream clean to drink,
Infected by microbes paving way for the drought,
Scarce turned abundance to the mansion of sight,
Sensitive are the reflexes of the mind to migrate.

What should be done for storms not to recur?
Where whistles of hardships is at the finest of peak,
Acceptance of fate or the road down with no end?
What should be done for ease to be restored?

No matter the caution, pestilence knows not stop,
Snakes know no boundary in the course of chaos,
It's one thing for struggles to be hard to digest,
Another are pests that will choose not to leave.

Not all are found round the fire of thoughts,
For partial is existence to the shattered with zeal,
Prejudice is a general in the army of life,
Where equity is a stranger in the land with no voice.

Roman Empire Production
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