Monday, September 27, 2004


A sea of sad faces
with fear in their sadder eyes
waiting to be picked out
to be butchered
they wield canes and guns
and a wicked mouth
to curse and spit
on their brothers
armbands to mark us,
isn't a hollow walking dead
enough a sign
to choose your toy?
yes, they lock me up
to be carted
to the slaughter house,
my stop-over.
and there better be a god
for i'll command him
to let them stay immortal
in the hell i shall build.
i'll make bricks
from their bones
and with their guns
the scaffolding
i'll dig up all their words
to write nightmares
filled with their screams
in the eternal burning...

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Disaster At The Doors

Hear the footsteps?
climbing the stairs
lost the hideaway
to the next coward
cluttered jealousies
a sense of none
cliched flashbacks
shall always find a way
safely secure
behind rhymes
and reasons
if you live a lie
live a better one
though you've grown
remain as confused
as the little boy
who feared his secrets
did the unthinkable
looking over his shoulders
to make sure
still trying to keep out
the disaster at the doors

Empty Pages

I've been turning these pages
hoping to find some answers
and listening to the whispers
of an undying forever
what these gates hold beyond
the ghosts of tomorrow may never tell
trapped inside a silver-lined cloud
is an angel who fell
from heights that a mortal
seeks to climb all his age
a slip and a fall here and there
failures fill up this page
but what a story would it be
if it were all flowers and a clear sky?
wishing death while we've moments to live
and when its time, we fear to die...

Saturday, September 18, 2004


awake, my friend
hold my hand
let us walk by the sea
of our distant dreams
where the Sun is
all but bright
and the Moon's a jewel
in the crown of the night
fading stars and
yawning clouds
roll over the mountains
beneath the lit-up house
where our dreams are caged
with our empty souls
where strange games are played
and stranger tales told
where the dawn refuses to knock
so we wait by the lonely rock
await, for our story to begin
awake, for our time is running thin...

jim morrison's ghost song was the inspiration.

Poemas Muertos

Dead Poems...
This blog will host some of my poems and songs I have written. Please feel free to post a comment or two and drop in any responses!

Sachin Shrestha