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.