Tag: darkness
In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum (of human history od living and dying)
Airily at a fragrance-oozing garden a gem-beautified tree leaving a peg of bright white wood
Thrilled hand sculpting faces to add to by the garden
With midsummer rose petals of Venusian Red by the sides floor-strewn in rows
Too holy to pray my eyes looked at the firmament’s high girdle
to dive in seclusion into light
It’ll just be one great summer of red tea
and I shall disrobe myself before nature and taste of love
hear the cortege the flutes and the tambourines
perceived in the wind
Entombed beneath the mountains of Himalayas seclusion
In The Balovale’s tribes mausoleum
where it always smells like greasy secretion
during circumcision, an ancient torture for babies
From ancient precursor to what we call warfare
Since Ilyad then Tiberius’ Holocene and the charge of the light brigade
were terrifying, inglorious flash which had souls charred to ashes,
the blood kept coming from knife-stabbed bodies
Blades cut palms from the palm-trees for
a chant for selfish prayer of the wildest Brutuses
Richards, with all the Henries in between
leader, a sociopath in the house of roses
to clothe himself in war to taste of blood by fire
Gold glorified in greed have baited the kings
to close their eyes
and descend into apathy’s underworld
This has to be the end
of attending to gloom
Attention, my soul, do not leave your gaiety’s sun unattended.
I am not some face boiling if you stretch out
like a kid, your tongue at me
Here is my skin thick to stand
jackals from your lips handsome replica
appliance is for the sake of ameliorative mankind
living with love in my blood is enlivening,
living tenderly in the silence..
No decay will devour my summers’ bloom
Actually, the sun in its beams of glory
will resurrect midsummer dreams
I want to see you, you… morning house
You, dewy face
You, flowery eye
In fact, when I take off this night gown
like a daughter in obedience
A garden secure,
pleases me with the fragrance, that faylike spell
myself, I’m a mystic
who seeks the Heavenly
I should walk alone with a silent head
to a secluded wood
and dive into darkness
to rise up into light
Editor: Obinna Eruchie, https://allpoetry.com/Obinnex
Freedom
My eyes are flawless
My eyes are living
hell’s of isolation’s keenly placed prison
In what darkness they’ve seen yet
whose light sees nothing else when looked deeply
within its reflections
Other than darkness preludes
always seemingly lurking in its unbeknownst
shadows of opportunities once had and lost
Continually raped by a demonic entity
my cowardice in my eagerness to say yes
my cowardice in my eagerness to say no
Those who have wept
mercy to the stillborns,
with bruised wombs, Mother’s feathered creatures
Starve us to the bone of sunlight –
never allowing us to wake
from its steely barbed wired fence
Beyond sense but saved
beyond dead but live
on sodden land with a granite red
Free to battened, free to crumble,
free to care not
free from pain and blood and touch
Vanity on the fox’s trail, “The Darkness will understand”
Vanity on the fox’s trail
Behold, a miracle!
Supposedly one-sided at instants
Suitable for a scrambled moment
The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet
Tasseled with nails instead of sandals
Conversing silently.
Anything but sough
Shores and scrapings fantasizing
Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you
To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils
Wistful across the stones you overcome
Blacker than night
You fear there will no longer be vertebrates
It is the third hour in the night After
from “The Darkness will understand”
A wondering soul poem, Leila Samarrai
A wassail around the grave
Of the Russian mystic
Lunacy crucified in his eye
I knit a wreath for the vixen
Who was suffocating next to the shaft,
Tearing the grid with her teeth,
Who was breaking the joists,
Eating sonnets,
She rode the Lion’s gate
In a dress with a décolletage
Cut with her sword and enflamed with her pyre
The heads of the five Mycenaean bulls.
My blindness,
Put me away into wilted flowers
So I repose there
Already my corpse reeks strongly
The one that never dies
Whose wounds were played in the darkness
While unease ripens in the fog
Lulled inside the years
A bloodied sun comes out in the west
To your Grace, “The darkness will understand”, Leila Samarrai
To your Grace*
Into the shade of roses I desired to hide
But I fell asleep in a book
Open on a poem about a t(ort)u(rer)tor
Poets of long ago
Under shadows and soil
Count they on seraphim
On somberness, on window panes
On doors pried open and the secret of life
On branches of cypress that lure with silence
And long, northern morning under harps
At the wane of sight
Let quietude rip out the truth
Sang of stone
*Addressed to the readers
The signs along the path are the only thing left for you, “The darkness will understand”, Leila Samarrai
3
You do not grasp – the spilled blood is chiming
From unveiling you wrongfully dread
In agony of you yourself
While we pine atop Grecian terraces.
Daughter
Still rivers are audible in endeavor
And at that conjoined
In mirrors is the road to land of dead
And worshippers of the chronometer
And the unachievable bloom of summer
Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter
We are going to satiate ourselves
Grasshoppers as well my daughter
Before they abandon us through the windows
I forefeel that the unreliable man
quiets his breath and embarks on the way
of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars
The signs along the path are the only thing left for you
