A plague of disorienting thoughts spread,
I loiter beside shores of forgotten life
And hopelessly gaze at a drifting horizon,
I feel my eyes moisten , maybe at loss
Or maybe with a strange paranoia.
Let the lives here feel the cold comfort
Of my blades. Each disappearing life
Enlightens my soul with deep delight,
I am a merciless killer, and a granter of
Life. The cycle of memories continue.
Fresh flowers bloom in my garden,
I struggle to smother my fervor,
Searching for thorns, I find many,
But the beauty of the fresh bud disrupt
The spells of agony. I feel the tranquil scent.
I keep the flowers beside her grave,
I killed her to keep me alive, the
Plague keep hauling sands from
My shores, eventually, I know, she
Would be devoured by the irate seas.
And yet, I know, even when
The last flower withers off,
Her eyes will remain enveloped within my heart,
Her smiles shall remain unscathed on my shores,
Her eyes will remain enveloped within my heart,
Her smiles shall remain unscathed on my shores,
But her memories will go forever down,
The drains of a torrid plague.
Some very vivid stuff here. Enjoyed it, didn't understand it--- which can be a good thing.
ReplyDeleteNot understanding is never a good thing. I have added a bit of note. Hope that helps.
DeleteA very dark poem & quite chilling. "I killed her to keep me alive..." kind of stuns me as I read it. But your poem is well composed and well thought out. And I wonder what the backstory of these two is, what she did to deserve her fate.
ReplyDeleteI have provided a bit of a backdrop. but don't let it take away the image your mind provides.
DeleteAh, the backdrop helps and changes my entire interpretation of the poem. I do think backdrops help greatly when the situation is not exactly clear. Thank you.
DeleteSo strongly described emotions
ReplyDeleteThank you Vandana. Long time seeing you here. Hope rains have cooled your place. :)
Deletehope your power comes back on man...interesting contrasts in your verse...a killer to bring life...still caring enough as well to flower her grave....and how haunting as well in how she sticks with you...
ReplyDeleteThank you Brian. Power came back today. But conditions are still awful
DeleteA haunting piece and one does wonder at the backstory. Beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteThank you Sherry. :)
Deletehaunting.. there's something beautiful in these emotions.
ReplyDeleteThank you Natasa
DeleteDark and mysterious and still so beautiful. Wonderful write!
ReplyDeleteThank you Lisa
DeleteThanks to all. I hope it needs a bit of clarification about the backdrop. I read a recent incident of a man killing his wife purely because of his meaningless suspicions. Though the poem could be seen from that perspective, or with another which I tried to conceal within it. Of a man who is fighting dementia, who tries to bury the memories of the one he loved. Someone whose memories where slaughtered by himself but still lives on untouched inside a grave. He killed her memory to save him from the agony of life without her. But he finds her grave in his mind and cant get over her completely. It is then that his dementia takes over. The rest is all clear I believe. And thanks for dropping in your comments and views. I am sure you could view this piece in the way you like to, because I have left room for creations by the reader. :)
ReplyDeleteOh wow Anand this is intense, visceral, painful and dark and your note breaks my heart. The thought that I might forget my loved ones, it is an unbearable one. Gorgeous writing it definitely gets under the skin
ReplyDeleteExpertly crafted, very melancholy and in a way, soothing in part. The dementia did not come through for me, I read it more as regret in aftermath of delusional action. Enjoyed very much!
ReplyDeleteExpertly crafted indeed.
ReplyDelete'I killed her to keep me alive, the
Plague keep hauling sands from
My shores, eventually, I know, she
Would be devoured by the irate seas.'
The 'hauling sands from my shores'wonderfully descriptive.
Anna :o]
Jekyll and Hyde at war! brought out well here. Without the process notes, the poem has a standing of its own
ReplyDelete