Parabellum

 

  Parabellum 

~Akshat Nayak 

“Liars share with those they deceive, the desire not to be deceived”

~sissela bok 

The phrase “para bellum” comes from Latin and means “prepare for war.” It’s part of the full Latin phrase “Si vis pacem, para bellum,” which translates to “If you want peace, prepare for war.” The idea behind this saying is that being prepared for conflict can deter aggression and maintain peace.

Mirrors 

Masks and Mirrors

Smoke and Mirrors

Mirrors of Perspective

The Holy Heist 

Mirrors 

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Whisper truths we dare not call.

Show us not the face we wear,

But the soul beneath, raw and bare.

For every smile we cast so bright,  

A thousand faces beam in turn,  

Yet in the dark, we hide our plight

Feel unworthy of another's concern.

We mimic joy and paint our fears,  

In every glance and fleeting touch,  

Yet mirrored sorrow sheds its tears,  

A reminder that we care too much.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who hears the whispers of our fall?

While you stay silent, what tales are spun,

Of battles fought and victories won?

Each gesture, kind or laced with pain,  

From suppressed guilt, we cannot flee,  

And though we try to hide the strain,  

Our reflections show what we can’t see.

So behind the glass, our thoughts confined,

We find our truths, both harsh and kind,  

In the  mirror's every crack entwined,  

We see the souls we’ve left behind.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Do you hear the silent call?

In your gleam, we seek our fate,

In your depths, we contemplate.

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Masks and Mirrors 

In a room full of laughter, I stand,
watching shadows play against the walls.
Their smiles, woven with threads of silk and deception,
crisp as the dawn but cold as the night.

They wear masks made of glinting silver,
polished so fine, they reflect nothing of the heart within.
In their eyes, the glimmer of distant stars,
yet not one burns with the warmth of truth.

Words exchanged like currency,
Each syllable weighed, each gesture measured.
They talk in riddles and whispers,
secrets shared with the air but never with the soul.

How easily they embrace,
hands clasped in fleeting connection,
but the touch is hollow, a mimicry of sincerity,
a dance of mannequins in the moonlight.

In the silence between their voices,
I hear the echoes of unspoken desires,
the longing for a bond untainted by deceit,
for a friendship where the heart beats freely, unguarded.

Yet here I am, surrounded yet alone,
my voice a distant echo in their polished hall of mirrors.
I wonder, in this world of reflections,
Where do I find the face that mirrors mine?

---

Smoke and Mirrors 

I

In the haze of dreams, I once believed,
I chased reflections, shadows deceived.
The world was framed in perfect light,
Yet hollow whispers filled the night.

Smoke rose high, obscuring truth,
A fragile veil that soothed my youth.
I reached for hands that weren’t there,
A lonely dance with empty air.

Mirrors cracked beneath my gaze,
Revealing lies in shattered ways.
Faces blurred, their meanings lost,
Love and trust, the final cost.

Through the smoke, I saw too late,
A heart that mirrored only fate.
Yet in the shards, I found the key,
To break the chains and set me free.

---

II

But freedom, too, can feel like fire,
A burning bridge of deep desire.
I walked through flames with blinded eyes,
Chasing echoes, chasing skies.

The smoke returned, it knew my name,
It whispered softly, "All the same."
It pulled me back to where I’d been,
A prisoner to the world within.

Mirrors told their silent lies,
Reflections donned a new disguise.
I screamed, I begged for something real,
For anything I’d dare to feel.

Yet every truth dissolved like dust,
A fragile tower built on trust.
And all I held, and all I swore,
Were fleeting ghosts, and nothing more.

---

III

But one day, from the ash and gloom,
A fragile flower dared to bloom.
It grew from cracks within the stone,
A sign that I was not alone.

The smoke, it thinned, it lost its hold,
No longer could it keep me cold.
The mirrors fell like brittle glass,
Each shatter marked the pain’s last pass.

I found the light beyond the storm,
A fragile peace, a brand new form.
The shadows lingered, but I knew—
The only truth is that I grew.

So now I walk through clearer skies,
No more lost in mirrored lies.
The smoke may rise, but I won’t fall—
For I have learned to see through all.

---

Mirrors of perspective

Amidst the roaring storm, we grieve,
Our troubles loom like autumn leaves.
Yet in the heart of the darkest night,
There’s always a more daunting plight.

When burdens weigh and dreams are thin,
Remember, where we end,  others fight to begin.
Each soul carries its unique despair,
Yet someone’s cross is harder to bear.

In seeing others’ trials, so profound and deep,
A humbling truth begins to softly seep.
Their heavier burdens carried with a smile,
Remind us all, how our life is fragile.

It’s in their struggles that we come to see,
Our own trials, though they sting, are yet to be
A fraction of the weight that others bear—
In such reflection, humility we share.

So lift your eyes beyond the pain,
To where others face a fiercer strain.
Find strength in knowing you’re not alone,
And let your heart’s resolve be shown.

But do not hush the voice of fear,
For what you feel is real, sincere.
Instead, let reason light the way,
To turn your fears to lessons each day.

---

The Holy Heist

In sacred temples with sacred rites
Where faith should heal and souls ignite

A veil of faith, so pure and grand,

Conceals the grasp of a greedy hand.

Beneath the gilded temples' gleam,

Where faith is more than just a dream,

A serpent's hiss, a ghost of greed,

In holy disguise, corrupts the creed.

In the name of gods, the faithful bring

Their food, their wealth, their everything.

Yet this sacrifice, so pure and kind,

Is consumed by those of hollow mind.

The needy’s cries are lost in vain,

While priests live on in lavish gain.

And what was meant to heal and mend,

Is turned to serve a greedy end.

The holy scripts, the sacred stone,

Are twisted to a profit's home.

Yet still, through this deceit, the truth will gleam—

The faithful's love should lift, not shroud in schemes.

So let the golden walls decay,

And let the incense drift away,

For faith is not in pomp or show,

Or temples built with wealth to grow.

So seek not temples grand and vast,

But find the faith that’s meant to last,

The heart that loves, the soul that yearns,

Finds God in simple truths it learns.

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Thank You 

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When life feels heavy and you’re feeling blue,
Just remember, there’s always a joke or two.
A duck walks into a bar and orders a beer,
The bartender says, “We don’t serve your kind here!”

So the duck is upset because the sad poems have to end,
And if it's not on a funny note, god knows who he might offend.         His poems had been about the sorrows of lies and deceptions,
They spoke of how actions mirror our intentions.

Greedy priests were brought to light,
Along with friends who hid their plight.
The duck read his poem  aloud to the bartender's surprise,
By the end of it all he had tears in his eyes. 

The Poem was sad, but the duck wasn't depressed,
He just penned down his thoughts, forget he might lest.
The patrons all gasped and looked on with awe,
As the bartender sobbed, wiping tears with his paw. 

The duck finished his poem, and with a bow so grand,
He said, “A beer, good sir, was the deal we had planned.
The people stood wide-eyed, they couldn't believe their luck
They said, ‘Forget the poem, WE JUST FOUND A TALKING DUCK’.

So they scooped up the duck in a net with a grin,
And the duck quacked, “I guess this is where I begin!”
So when the world’s got you feeling down and small,
Just think of that duck and have a good laugh after all!

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