Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Poetry 2015, Longlist Anmol Ankita

The Immortal Cries

Underneath the heap of the mass so strong,
My breaths hum its very last song.
My eyes weary and distressed,
See my girl, cuddling her doll;
Her sweet blush escaping from her giggles,
Invite my smile to pull off any trigger.
I see my lovable wife, longing for my arrival,
Her countless prayers, doting only for my survival.
Her innocent gaze transfixed and undisturbed by any odd,
Liquefies all my burden into worthless voids;
Her intense care, her addictive love, her unconditional desires,
Her beauty can only be matched with the fairies of my isle.
I see my boy ageing into a man,
His audacity tuning with warmth and passion;
His heart, Oh, so pure and surreal !
Knowing no dirt to smelt him,
Or to injure his fame,
 All he fathoms is his encumbrance,
To protect and behold my name.
My fatigued eyes, now wander around,
To see, to worship, to admire my native land;
The soil which grew me up,
The soil that will take me back.
My wounds reopen to reflect the hideous truth,
Where my men lay frozen,
Covered with dirt and blood of betrayal;
Where tears of agony washed their petrified souls,
And the treacherous men alive, laughed at their mortal whole.
Those familiar faces, lay straight along my reach of glance,
Immobile, still and lifeless;
Looking at my helplessness,
To cleanse my girl’s rashes,
To soothe my boy’s monstrous pain,
To embrace my dearest’s pieces, lying all along the lane.
Their mortal corpse were the last of my memories,
The last verses of my song,
Where their mirage appeared,
waiting for me, since long.
Underneath the starry night, Serene as it might;
The canopy of the leaves and the sky,
Finally buries me into their mournful cries

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