Atheist or Pagan
which gets to dream
reasoning stilted
spirits unseen
Rational narcissist
tribal taboos
if given the choice
it’s easy to choose
Atheist or Pagan
contrast to compare
the first in self-worship
—the second aware
(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
On social media and TV,
in papers that we buy,
bodies well honed and muscles toned,
the gorgeous greet our eyes.
Through pouting lips in selfies,
tousled hair and perfect tans,
parading in some foreign place
for legions of their fans.
To all innocent youngsters
for that perfect look they seek,
each Venus and Adonis
in their eyes, have reached their peak.
But pursuing the unobtainable
is a voyage crewed by fools,
in the waters of self worship
run aground in shallow pools.
For with each new morning sunrise
we turn another page,
and time flows like a river
and on it floats our age.
We treat this Earth like Gods
but immortal we are not,
friends, family, possessions transient,
your life is all you've got.
Oh,Youth be kind, be selfless
and thus you'll live life well,
for precious looks will fade with time
and old age will be Hell.
Oh, my soul,
Why do you always go to pluck that fruit?
Why do you always judge on good and evil?
Why do you always appeal to the intellect?
Why do you always please the senses?
Why are you so arrogant and proud?
Why do you command and dominate?
Why are your traduces crude and rude?
Why are your actions ill mannered and inconsiderate?
Why be loud, boastful, talkative and opinionated?
Why be insecure and afraid?
Why be intimidated and inhibited?
Why be introverted and extroverted?
Critical, judgemental, condescending and condemning!
So self-sufficient, self-reliant, self-motivating, self-seeking –
So much into self-love, self-adoration, self-idolatry, self-worship –
Oh my soul, my selfish soul?
Annoyed with Self Worship
Am annoyed with those who self worship,
And out has been causing so many to flip;
At least four
Or maybe more,
To Antarctic for years should take a trip.
Jim Horn
Burning the scriptures of truth
Gaining control of the vast lands
Leaders spreading their demonic sickness
Love ones impaled by the spears of ignorant soldiers
Happiness becoming just another thing of the past
Dominators purge the flesh of lifers
Confining foolish races with eternal slavery
The incompetent minds of feeble humans slaughtered
Oppression rears its ugly head
Unite, dethrone them all
Destroy the palaces of these tyrants
Taking back the freedom and prosperity we once held dear
Reclaim are peace of mind
Bring forth a new world promise
Demolish their temples of self-worship
New leaders will be born to save us all
A new reign of life
Pavement cafe, nine fifteen cradling a coffee (as you do)
from my left the china doll with clicking heels strode into view.
Tempting lips kissy-kissed with crimson, cheeks caressed
with blush, and poreless,
painful teasing made those scimitars for eyebrows nigh on flawless.
Hair of sunlit copper billowed like an Eton teacher's gown,
open trench coat followed suit as china hurried into town.
Head turned sideways, in each shop window she looked at her reflection
checking for the slightest hint of any sort of imperfection.
So wrapped up in herself, my my, how deep self worship had bit you
that you didn't see the lamp post until suddenly it hit you-
walked straight into it with quite a clang at such a rapid pace
recoiled, lurched back, bewildered- it was then I saw her face.
The laughter from the passers-by just made it even worse
as, shaking, she sat down near me and fumbled in her purse.
Tearful now,still reeling from her public humiliation
she got the make-up mirror out for damage limitation.
Haughtiness gone, the facade broken sat lovely Amanda,
legs like a flamingo but her right eye like a Panda.
Have I been summons to your presence , only to be sacrificed.
In the coldness of your breath..i will be put to a icy cold death.
With one word, I exist or not.
It is only you whom can wear your arrogant crown of ice.
You care not at all about my loss in your icy Palace of shallow glory.
I will be forgotten and disquarded , not worthy of a story .
To be replaced by a new form of ice , that ice will only be disquarded like I have been.
There is no place in your frozen heart for anyone other then you .
Are you happy with the cold Icy walls you have created in your palace Of self Worship .
You worship your self Self Ice king , surrounded by Sin.
Rejoicing tongues taste a tripled fortnight of psalms.
Parched throats anointed with vintage myrrh
commemorate a solemn departure.
Hands reflecting no piercings -
Feet devoid of spiked reverence and divinity
expire within the jackal’s private Calvary;
a dark abyss strangled with misguided beggars
blindly choosing a Dante's purgatory for themselves.
For they shun not the light dispersing absolution - selfish claws
steal this lambency to illuminate the plight of their own wickedness.
Fiery angels rarely dance atop fraudulent tombs drowning in self-worship;
they are quietly reborn between clasped palms praising a resurrection.
My molten core is bursting at the seams
Billowing ash and smoke circle above
Volcanic eruptions are on the rise
Intense balls of fire I toss from my glove
That damnation isle, this Icelandic land
Eating away at our profits, typically planned
This mother nature, no dollar sense
No bonus for us, can she redistribute and condense
Mankind has been playing hardball too long
His head's over-sized and his ego too strong
Iceland is but the tip of the iceberg
I'm now plotting the next eruption surge
There she goes firing of again
Airports are closing, grounding more aeroplanes
Tourism again hampered by her vociferous bellows
Which is a pain in the ass for us holidaying fellows
Don't toy with my gifts; I'll be more gentle
Your fine Earthly home is but a rental
Be kind to my creatures both great and small
Perhaps my fiery heart will cool down after all
Perhaps we have been harsh shooting from the hip
It's a trait of man, it's why we self worship
We appear to have grown a streak of selfishness
As we now look around at our self made mess
Confessional truth
is not my aggressive ego,
it is my fault.
The resolution of my conflicts with time,
the smell of the broken limbs,
my head in hoisted fever,
my eyes searching for a cloud.
The ultimate otherness,
of an idea baffles me.
Charity creates the misery,
you seek a window,
not the sky.
Looking for the gods,
enjoying the sweet depression,
of a pseudo-hurt.
I wanted the sanctity of a tree,
full of fragrant bloom.
To break the spell of hot arguments,
the fire of ideals,
projects self worship.
Town meets casually to select
a hybrid of man,
and a beast.
SATISH VERMA
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