The King is bound !

In a world mastered by time,
Has someone dared stray out of it ?
The monarch looks on
Expecting a bow howsoever,
No matter defeat or surrender;
A rise in the level is what it gets in turn.
Gentle,yet nothing short of a revolt in its own;
Quiet,yet louder than roars.
Stops for its own instance,
Marveling its own magnificence yet again;
But the lashes come close,
The sight gets acute;the vision;crimson;
A monologue proceeds,
The usual witness in a dilemma;
Goes un-noticed by them nevertheless,
For in their own thoughts they prevail;
Lost in the symphony of their own
Playing their own tunes
Rejoicing in the same
Shouting,shrieking even
They go like the wind,only quieter.
Sentenced they will be
And why not,dared defy the absolute
But by what means and to what end ?
For they don't mind sleeping eternally,
If they are but in the same grave
And of not,the green shall perish,
The monarch shall halt;
For a moment,forever;
In an abundance of grey, and red.

The Hunger Games

It’s Dark Ahead,

The Road stretches on,

Led by a monotonous march,

To a red horizon;

And to know you have to go on,

No matter what.

The path is dry and simple,

And yet it looks hard,

An unguided journey,

But a mastered one nonetheless;

It’s just the way of things,

Un-knowing and relentless.

Visionless, without dreams, without wishes.

No hope, none whatsoever.

A harsh symphony,

From a forsaken column,

Plays along with the road,

It’s really a display,

For the masters,

A game, one not joyous to all,

With rules untold,

Violation enlightens as and when,

Where nobody wins,

And a few loose,

Not that unpredictable.