Too Dark to See

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A Fall

2

It is messy and rickety

Secret that saddens the heart

The wise also fall into thorns

A fall is every  fools’ a sanctuary

 

A fall is aching but shy

A friendly but frantic tumble

It is volatile, gnarled and old

The reason for frantic weeps and pleads

 

A fall forces one to smell the earth

In a curious but explosive melancholy

To the innocent soft mournful whisperings

Of the ground’s vermin’s sweat, storm and steam

 

A fall blows away wisps of clouds,

Bowing the faint strands of sunshine

Those carrying hints of overtaxed heart

Pain of a poisoned good reputation

Sifting lies from a bulk of truth

 

A fall can smoothen all thoughts

It is a gone moment before starting

The wise had spoken of the word before

Of a mirror that had never shown reflection

Disillusionment

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Rush of jumbled sensations

Got leveled by reasonable thoughts

Carried by the kiss of grand gentle drafts

That beamed the face like an old magician

Who had discovered overt and covert tricks

 

Pangs of constant disgrace

Receded like a ship on the shore

Feeling had never been reflected before

It was a hale and hearty star filled nighttime

Gleaming eyes carried peace and trails of pride

 

Inner fire sparked all senses

Hardening all delicate features

Set apart by animal grace and strides

Pins and pricks of moonlight radiated trees

Stirring forgotten also lost warmth and desires

 

The vision was blurred by uncontainable tears

Of misunderstanding and hurt feelings

It was nothing but hard delusions

Not one or two meanings

Had to dismiss

Disappointed

The Promise

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“You promise?”

Aged only six years,

A promise meant trust,

Strangers meant no harm

 

The night had descended,

Silence roamed the eerily air,

It was dark, blinding and unnatural,

Grass sounded brittle in the coldness

 

Sudden fear ensnared her vulnerability,

“I want my mommy!”

She screamed at him,

But he was holding her hand tightly

 

The tight grip hurt her,

“You want to play?”

“I will show you a game.”

She was pulled towards stretched shadows

 

A pale moon hung just above,

Sprinkled stars surrounding it,

The sky appeared velvet black,

As if foreseeing impending horror

 

Stormy emotions circled her,

Helplessness,

Confusion,

Fear,

 

Tears rolled down her cheeks,

She tried to free from his grip,

Power was with him,

She couldn’t

 

Nights like these transformed him,

Drove wild his animal instincts,

Hunting for naive fluid beauty,

Obeyed demanding sounds

 

Subdued in the stretching cold night,

Flames leaped within her body,

Sending sharp sparks of pain,

She couldn’t scream,

Not anymore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Portrait

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Quietly it lay in its strangeness,

Appearing both flat and dead,

Speaking a myriad of dialects,

Neither lovely nor repulsive

 

The trees came out leafless,

With a spidery arrangement,

Hint of fury was carefully hidden,

By the surrounding still murky waters

 

A supple breeze hovered around,

It was hot and humid,

Carried neither odor nor perfume,

It was bizarre but oddly exciting

 

The fine gray sky carried a promise,

Also passed odd blinding longing,

A sickly sweet anticipation,

Of discovering and exploring anything anew,

 

Fear,

Terror,

All seemed evermore missing,

Or was it just self-fed illusion?

 

 

 

Broken Angel

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Surrounded by the hidden obscenity of the sky,

She coiled there naked and frayed,

Fire above the sky was as in her heart,

Ancestor’s winds carried a promise of rain,

But no amount of rain would cool her burning skin

 

Exposed under the judging eyes,

She had lost all her sensibility, earthiness and humanness,

Her dignity had been ensnared and reduced into fine dust,

She felt it disappearing into the red, hot fierce winds,

She huddled her defenseless sickly body against a million-knot gusts

 

She couldn’t,

She was small and weak,

She was a trapped powerless fly,

She took in all rain’s violence out of the tempest,

Regretting the loss of birth and of freedom

 

Violent battering rain equaled the pounding of her chest,

She hated her skin, weight and the texture of her hair,

She hated the trees and all the flowers,

She hated the sun, the moon and the stars,

 

She hated some more,

Hated the rain,

Hated her life,

…and gods,

She could only hate…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whirling Gusts

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As I hugged the unusual, empty, snaking road,

I was well aware of the invincible presence,

A whoring evil presence… staring…hating,

Line of unsettled faces souring with loath

 

Sometimes I felt naked under their invincible gawk,

Overwhelmed with the stench of everlasting exhaustion,

But the feeling also filled my soul with a sickly sweet anticipation,

Of fate, luck or even unluck

 

The growing wind carried a myriad of strange dialects,

They were hissing sounds with undercurrents of fury,

What’s wrong with leading my life? Owning my life?

Doing what I want, where I want and how I want it!

 

I struggled to keep all obscenity well hidden in my heart,

Feeling the joy and the hurt of it too,

It attracted a strange and a curiously exciting feeling,

It felt unearthly, delectable, sweet and satisfying

 

I got distracted by a lone spidery purple flower,

It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant,

The flower carried neither any perfume nor odor,

Fire from the sky sent red hot winds along its path

 

They hissed violence that equaled the thumping of my chest,

They came from the sky of death to life,

They multiplied like maggots in a corpse,

Were they winds of change or of a new assurance?

 

Everything and everyone was battered down,

Consumed by self-fed agony,

Except for the lonely purple flower,

That huddled defensefully deep in the loose soil…