Wednesday, 22 March 2017
POETRY - ANCIENT TEARS WITH THE DEATH OF A SONG
The boy became a liquid.
Poverty and war wore him with a twiny neck,
His eye was a trench in that socket
Clad in black skin - a symbol of our foremothers agony,
It is a loony story of how agony became normal
It was an un-solitary journey of how scars became inure
he was how an ancient state of difficulty became infinite,
And how fiends, friends and loved ones became morose.
He lives with a Scarpered heart held my muscled misfortune,
At this juncture malnutrition craft the life of a little boy on the pain,
Ridicule , agony of war, hunger and the tyranny they wore on him,
This s how a body becomes too malnourished to sweat.
This is how sweat is spurned to rubicund,
and calibrated on a scale of portrait from ancient tears,
Glee here, our foremother’s glee, was the taste of air in water,
Lullabies sleeping a little boy to hades
while making its way into an elegy
And making faces into a portrait of King Fahd,
The world newly created inside of a boy,
Walls made of terror and horror, tiles on it were
The head of fiends with vengefulness
and un-gleefulness in their smile of horns
In portraits of fire.
His face, a fertile soil for the
nourishment of melancholy was a
Veteran face still learning about grief by rote,
Face suffused with an eschewal
of glee ambling a route (and winding) through it
Like vultures vaunting around a dying wildebeest,
too dead to dream
Unthinking of its grave in the belly
of a bird or a feathered foe,
This face bullied by water,
was that comatose for war
Without any war Interned
by a quotidian of unease.
All Succours and Comfort was
brightening of the sun with a touch,
Our own personal glee,
misfortune’s newly purchased grief
, was that one day the dirge for
the living will die, And its resurrection
back to death will also die.