Saturday, 28 November 2015

Doom until death

And the world,
he said, is mine,
The rider who just went behind,
And it has been quite some time,
since he passed,
On a white horse he was,
crowned with gold,
carrying bow and arrows,
The world, he thought, would be at rest,
and away he went thinking it was a conquest,
The dead would have no religion, he thought,
but they made him realise soon,
for no reason he fought.

Now, red as blood,
There was a horse,
and upon it, a rider,
willing to end all wars,
Armed with a shiny sword, he slain,
and maimed with all his might,
the wrong and the right,
the coloured and the black & white,
This cruel shredding ending in vain,
because tomorrow they'll be closer to midnight.

Then came on a black horse,
a weak one with scales, asking for food,
He was on a diseased course,
and you can tell he was looking no good
With him, he brought,
a handful of epidemics, and across the world,
a cruel drought,
He thought they'll die,
from the dreaded famine,
And oh, they fought,
over an ironical vaccine

Follows him, an ashen horse,
and upon it a rider with no remorse,
For he is death,
in its true sense,
Has no religion, this one,
And cares for all,
just once,
Living or not,
nothing hurts the immortal of the lot,
He fails to fail to any disease,
because the truth is inevitable,
even if you don't please.