The madness is on its peak 

There is nothing that will make me believe

That love exists, that there is triumph 

That people win, that they rejoice in others victory

That they still think of others 

That they still prefer to give others better than their own

That they still hold their ground

That they dont fall or die from the load 

That there still is comradeship 

That people still value friendship 

NOthing, nothing will make me believe 

That what we live is true 

That what we have is real 

That we are not just helpless hounds 

That we all have a heart, still pure 

Nothing will make me believe 

No matter how much as my madness is on its peak

I am done and resolved 

That I shun this world 

The people who reside here 

All are liars, the lot of them 

Nothing will ever make me believe.

Not the red glare of the setting sun

Not the bright moon with its poise

Not the brilliant blue sky 

Neither the ever stretching horizon.

Nothing will ever make me believe 

That there is something real other than my madness 


One Story

This is the story of The Story of which no one has ever heard of. A story burried deep in legends and myths that no one knows the original version any more. It all started with two men carrying one story, shared between them, while on their journey.


Long, long ago, there lived two men. Men of power, men of wisdom, men of knowledge. They were handed over nothing but mere words. A few words which would shape the destiny of man. Words spun into a Story. A story which could never be sold; effective if hidden and disastrous if told. Setting out from the West, the men moved on.

Two men with two different paths, two visions, two directions, two perspectives, two different lives, carried that One Story within their hearts, a secret between them. In companionable silence, the men journeyed on, travelled far. No one knew their secret. The story was safe.

No sooner than a course of few weeks, did the men falter in their steps.Their companionship had run its course. It had faded and so they parted. Each promised the other to see their task through till the end.

It was a Farewell.

One wanted fame and so he set off on a third path. Not knowing the path was evil, of temptation. Turned rogue with desire, he sold the story. But he spun it differently, a little editing on his part for he had guilt in his heart. A guilt which made him lie, made him alter the story so high that he managed to cover it up. But he had succumbed, had betrayed the ancient oath, had let his guard down, had failed his companion. And so his soul was restless. Meanwhile the story spread on, mixed with lies as a disguise.

The other man chose his own path and walked on, choosing no curves or inviting bends. He kept his head clear and his conscience strong. Somewhere along the road, he was captured. The Story being leaked, they all knew he was the other who carried it along and wasnt a corrupt yet. His heart was true and faithful to the oath and he knew the story without any alterations. Held hostage, he got to know what his companion had done and he cried for his lost loyalty. He was forced to give the story but he too altered it for it was too dangerous to expose the real words. To maintain the sanctity of  The Story, he lied and gave a different version. But the kidnappers were no noble men. They pried the story from him and slit his throat. Poor man died for his oath.

Years passed and the two stories of the two men were made two legends. The legends turned to myths and myths got old. The Story, the original words were buried deep beneath the lies. It was safe.

The one who betrayed was later poisoned while the other had already been murdered. The two men met with two fates while journeying along two paths with two perspectives of one story.