The Trial

By S. Viswanathan

I. Disaster

Tall-old trees, merrily posed, with branches wound on shoulders,

Dark-dense forest, where advances hound, shell-shocked soldiers,

They tossed eyries like vet-caps, as time froze them yonder,

Chrome-hawks scanned the grounds, obeying a dead commander.

Fat-cold winds swirled on-stage, where audiences were lodged,

Fate demands encore but unlike before, auditoriums are dislodged,

Ballet dancers took a bow, and poets heard claps that barge,

Choreographers of unseen lands, unmask the ones in-charge.

Ripe-young fields withered by heat, something loud swallowed streets,

Babies were born with faces unseen and that's when our empathy retreats,

All rivers glowed with colorless light that melts any tissue at sight,

Flights of white-doves migrate to the heights of lasting mare and night...

II. Debate

Do you need free-speech, to hide what's really in your mind?

Is it 'cause the books preach, you abide and conspire behind?

Do you need authorities, to tame you to act kind?

Does it take two cities, to have masters of war resigned?

Do you need a screen, to form opinions on things that remind?

Does it take a machine, to realize you were not designed?

Do you need love, to know of things that don't bind?

Should it not take two doves, to stop the soldiers marching blind?

Oh! Judas of old, it takes only a keyhole, to know - you are confined.

Does it take a toss, to settle who lives despite one's intent?

Is that what took you to the cross, given the truth you present?

Does it take few miracles, to prove one is divine descendent?

Do we need an oracle, if free-will can really shape an event?

Is there any reason in faith, that has been killing reason to large extent?

Aren't Ten Commandments that you saith, embarrassing say-sos to be sent?

Is there any meaning in medicines, that gives a lotta motives to invent?

Is there a divine plan for sins, that plague humanity with no repent?

Oh! Jesus of old, it takes only a keyhole, to unlock doors of advent.

III. Dissolution

I have heard you both answer,

Yes, you were overly benign,

I have heard all your lies,

Not sure if they are mine,

And I am not fit to judge,

So here I resign.

By S. Viswanathan