~ The Abandoned Me ~

 

In half deserted streets,
You will quest for self,
When the dark ceases,
And the night takes over.

A restless flicker of an empty room,
Will call your name,

By a half open window,
That creaks in ache of its hollowness.

And in uncertain steps,
You will keep wondering,

If the call is for me,
Or is it me, who is calling,
For the lost in these streets,
The abandoned me, searching for self.

~S~

~ Once Upon A Time, There Was A Spring ~

The spring perished ages ago,
Inhumed under mounds of autumn haze,
Fading in russet dying leaves,
Those disjoined by the fugitive wind.

These streets now grey and benumbed,
Stumbling over footprints in blood,
Trampling each other in a hurried depart,
Erasing names of travelers past.

Soon a white shall spread out,
Freezing those departed days.
Over window stills of an eternal wait,
Icicles hang like memories by noose,
And our farewell tears buried deep,
Beneath the snow we never walked upon.

Once upon a time, there was a spring !

~S~

~ The Winter Night ~

What warms the winter night to me,
Is a silent voice, a murmur faint.
A name calling, that I can hear,
When nothing but her memory speaks.

There’s a bird who chirps away,
From the bottom of a darkened night,
Crooning my story in forsaken songs,
Those seem to you like a shallow chime.

Dreary and deadened this night flogs,
Dragging me like a withered corpse,
And I keep muttering your name,
Till the dark entombs me to sleep.

~S~

~ Wading Into Nothingness ~

What if this night screams out loud,
Calling your name over again?
Will you then brave this rain,
And row back into your fallen home?

What if the windows creak again,
Hearing your whispers from afar?
Will you seek your old room once again,
To search for memories on crumbled walls?

This night conspires to hide from you,
A laden sky and blinded stars,
And the little boy on his toes,
Fearing the rain may drown him too.

Now we don’t have any land to stand,
And we don’t have any burial grounds.
The river now lives in our rooms,
While we wade to nothingness.

~S~

 

~ Blank Plaques ~

Wounds of war chiseled deep,
In parched veins of a blood drenched form.
They read of battles,
The valiant fought.
A faithful witness,
Of gallant heads,
Those bowed to none of the tyrants’ gang.

How many slashes of the sword they bore,
Those tore apart our defenseless chests!
But rebels to the Pharaohs hordes,
Cared not of how they fell.

Blank plaques standing tall over graves,
Read tales of valor, none could erase.
And in the hush of these nameless tombs,
Fearless whispers of one night,
Shall raise the final battle cry,
And our dead shall then rise again.

~S~