Gladiator

Gladiator

Standing by the Colosseum's door,

In the shimmering armour he wore.

He grunts and takes a step forward,

As the massive doors open inward.

His metal chains clink as he paces,

Staring up at the thousands of faces.

That greet him with screams of death,

Fueling the gladiator's so fiery a breath.

A table is laid over which the blades rest,

He tries them all, then chooses the best.

The choice of which he makes,

There is no room for mistakes.

The sun batters down upon the field,

He looks upwards and raises his shield.

Standing at a distance is his foe, 

His death would be painful and slow.

Both ready to fight till the death'd bite,

Either or both of them and end this fight

With no further thought they charged,

As the massive doors were barred.

The crowd burst into screams of life and death,

As dodging a blow, he swore under his breath.

His adversary was furious, he no less,

Each move counted, like a game of chess.

Blows he'd dodge and blows he'd give,

It was for what he'd come down to live.

The crowd chants death as if it were a hymn,

Spilling blood had become routine for him.

And when it was felt they fought equally hard,

One swift move of his caught the foe off guard.

The crowd erupted into screams once again,

As it looked like he won his part of the bargain.

The foe numb with pain, started to sway,

Death for him was just a fatal blow away.

He crouched, now at the mercy of his foe,

Closing his eyes, awaiting the final blow.

With a sword in his hand, a helpless foe at his feet.

The dominance he felt, was strangely incomplete.

Although the sword he bore was at his will,

Ready to strike down his worthy kill.

A faint conscience somewhere within him stirs,

Which expeditiously grows till him it blurs.

An ominous silence now covers the crowd,

As guilt, now hovers above him like a cloud.

Astonishingly, his sword rises to take the blow,

Bringing it fiercely downwards then he lets go.

It's a moment previously  unwitnessed in history,

That someone lets go an inch away from victory.

The crowd, their mouths now wide open,

His deed, screamed what couldn't be spoken.

Cowardice! Someone from the crowd bellowed,

Soon enough, across the Colosseum 'coward' echoed.

He ignored them and turned around,

His feet still felt shaky on the ground.

But his mighty heart was content at last,

Never had he felt happiness so vast.

His foe though hadn't forgotten his part,

He had long practised, mastered the art.

The final blow, he was the one to impart,

As he put his sword through a content heart.

And as he fell, a feeble smile escaped his lips,

As with both hands his bleeding heart he grips.

The feeble smile now a painful laughter,

As he'd achieved the much sought after.

The hooting crowd now fell dead silent,

Was the scene for them a bit too violent?

Or perhaps the dead had become the valiant? 

Hearts were moved. That was apparent.

And even as the gladiator peacefully lay,

People had learnt a lesson, if only for a day.

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The Philosophical Kid

The Philosophical Kid

The world was a strange place for a little kid,

He used to feel accountable for all that he did.

There was no evil in that world he knew,

Only good. In everyone. That was his view.

Yet, one thing about that child was really odd,

That clothing of all sorts, he'd label them as fraud.

It was a strange fact, very strange indeed,

But the little brain had an explanation for the deed.

For it would change the people he'd recognize,

Not people exactly, their personalities to be precise.

The way they'd walk, and how they'd behave,

It would all confuse the little child so naive.

From casuals to fancy suits and dresses,

Their behavioral changes met his guesses.

Expensive clothing had a serious effect,

The clothes themselves demanded respect!

The child went on and on with his imagination,

He concluded. It was all an act of domination.

With the clothes ironically, the masters,

And the people; slaves of their captors!

People could only behave, he admitted,

The way their fancy clothing permitted.

And obliterated was the idea of men born free,

Enslaved they were since their first clothing thought he.

And while fancy clothes stood by waiting to be adorned,

An innocent little kid, into a philosopher had transformed.

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Dual Personality

Dual Personality

Ever wondered that behind a sincere smile,

Might have lurked intentions that were vile?

Or behind the curtain of anonymity,

Was a heart dripping with enmity?

My intention is not that through this rhyme,

Should you look at everything as a crime.

And at everyone with a suspicious glance,

As if they're ever ready to take their chance.

Every chance they get at depriving you,

Robbing you off all joy, leaving you blue.

Unfortunately, that's what it has come down to,

And nobility today is only found in an elite few.

The people who abstain from hypocrisy,

Are lambs amidst wolves in the society.

For today, if by the rules you were to abide,

You would find next to no one by your side.

Fake friends, fake relatives, fake people,

But on the outside they'd seem to be feeble.

They'd talk to you looking in the eye,

If only you realized that it were a lie.

It is a frightful disease, if not more,

But like everything, to it there's a cure.

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The Stone Face

   The Stone Face

It was but an anonymous face,

Of a man of an unknown race.

Of some great leader perhaps,

Someone who'd redesigned maps.

It was as if he watched over the town,

And in all these years, he didn't frown.

The lines on his face were smooth,

Of a man, at the prime of his youth.

There he was, engraved in a hill,

His face, carved with great skill.

Highlighting his presence was a folklore,

Justifying its integrity, people swore.

According to the legend, the people were sure,

That the great man had never walked their shore.

He was yet to come, a harbinger of good,

They longed to see him, if only they could!

One fine day, the mysterious man appeared,

Just according to the legend they'd reared!

"It's him!" Shrieked an old woman with delight,

As she opened her door to the man, gaily bedight.

He was taken aback by her sudden reaction,

Couldn't decide the next course of action.

The woman then held out her hand, pointing afar,

At his stone face, as radiant as an evening star.

Astonished he stood, in an awe,

Couldn't digest what he just saw.

Before he could pull himself all  together,

The old woman had left, full of endeavor.

Spreading the news, she ran from house to house,

And through the orchards, sleeping men she'd rouse.

They had all started to gather around the man,

Without any delay, with all his might he ran!

For little did he know of what was happening,

All he knew to save his life he was scrambling.

And they darted after him like maniacs,

Trying to stop him dead in his tracks.

He ran expeditiously to the shore,

Untied his boat that was offshore. 

And by the time to the shore they'd drawn,

Their long awaited legend had already gone.

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Hahaha unexpected ending huh? I just love twists here and there in the plot. Hope you all enjoyed it!

The Coin Interpreter

The Coin Interpreter 

A gleaming coin in his hand,

With an eyepiece he scanned.

And made notes of the same,

As if it were a puzzle game.

And on his desk sat other coins waiting,

Of gold and silver of the highest rating.

              He studied each of them carefully,              

For days and days, weeks rarely.

They were not merely restricted to his table,

Lying in every corner they were, yet to label.

A very peculiar man he was indeed,

But, where to would these coins lead?

A sea of coins he had in his possession,

His love for them had turned to obsession.

But it was not wealth that he was after,

He was a true historian, a history drafter.

He believed that every coin had it's story,

Which he'd patiently listen to in all its glory.

And coins taught him a lot about history,

About the things that'd remained a mystery.

About emperors, epic battles and noble men,

And common day things every now and then.

About financial and political conditions,

All told by the coins and their compositions.

He always felt that coins highlighted the past,

And reflected the future, in a glossy contrast.

So, as the world moved on and time flew by,

He ever sat there, with a coin to meet his eye.

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The idea for this poem actually came from a dream I had a few days back! Never let your dreams die! Transform them into reality! If not, go to the cave of lost dreams! Haha I've left the riddle up to you people to solve!

As a matter of fact, take a look at these coins. They are basically Spanish coins. But, they are stunning!! Their beauty has literally held together my poem!