Invasion?

It was a cold winter night, but I was sweating profusely. I did not mind though, "How am I to believe I am the clone?", I asked the impostor. "You say you remember creating me, but your memories are the same as mine and I don't remember being created.", I told him patiently. "Even, if for argument's sake, if I was created by you, why should I take care of your mundane tasks, while you sit back and relax?" "It is your fault then to have re-created yourself, if all you needed was a slave, why not a robot I ask you?" He was not very forthcoming in his reply. "And if you call this invasion, or forceful replacement, how can it be wrong if you are replaced by yourself." He looked back with the same sullen silence. "But I do not believe your theory in the first place, you fraud. I am better than you obviously, how else would this be happening?" He did not seem to understand. Explaining to a child would have been easier I think. But of course it is difficult to explain things to the dead. I piled the last spade-full of mud onto his face hurriedly.. The sweat was finally getting to me.

The Courtesan

Let us call her a good name (please not a dasi),
Not that she is any different to see,
Her state is not justified,
Nor is it gratified,
Just a better way to call her, a courtesy.

Die

They say when you are just about to die, your whole life flashes past you. The cliched highs, lows and whatnot. Well, I don't know about that, but my life is flashing past me, only, I am not dying (I've never had a near, or for that matter, far death experience), I am only in love. Yes, this is my love story. It is unique, with nothing close to anything you've heard or seen before, but again, for all it's singularity, it is after all a love story.

Today is the day. I am in love and here is my life flashing by...

Carthage

A few words here and there,
A litany this is not,
Not to curse nor to rant,
Just an epitaph fraught.

A verse forgotten,
On a paradise on earth,
With a Trojan effendi..
Do queens satisfy the dearth?

Moments in the flow of time,
Is it the past or from the future, a page?
A glimpse on the grandeur and the fall,
This song on Carthage.