Epitaph

The wall on which the prophets wrote
is cracking at the seams.
Upon the instruments of death
The sunlight brightly gleams.
When every man is torn apart
With nightmares and with dreams,
Will no one lay the laurel wreath
When silence drowns the screams.

Between the iron gates of fate,
The seeds of time were sown,
And watered by the deeds of those
Who know and who are known;
Knowledge is a deadly friend
If no one sets the rules.
The fate of all mankind I see
Is in the hands of fools.

Confusion will be my epitaph.
As I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back
and laugh.
But I fear tomorrow I’ll be crying.
Yes I fear tomorrow Ill be crying.


King Crimson
In the Court of the Crimson King
Island, 1969

Poetic justice. Poetry in motion. Haunting words. So much can be said in pure adulation of the above piece. Do I like it. I actually live it. Read the last six lines carefully and you shall be cracking all over the place with appreciation. Ohmigod, shall I die someday?

Amitabh Iyer ( msn messenger/email id is : amitabhiyer@hotmail.com) Site update history 
Trapped in this mesh which I have my home ;-)))...let me help you navigate the labyrinth