Hungry lay the battalion of graves that hide him from the setting sun
Regal and nonchalant like drawn curtains when the play is done
Life demands the imminent eventuality of waves that cease their grating roar
But yet he remains in function, forever craving that validating rapport
Like DNA strands, it links him with purpose; it feeds him with identity and direction
Gluttony, he is a product of; a child of cannibalism, forever feeding off souls
Until the waves cease and he becomes an eerie white ghoul
Soldiers of coercion abduct him from the amnesty of his mother’s womb
Thrusting him into the bright metropolitan of masked faces and incoherent sounds
Where the only solace he finds is from the one whose soft cry is cognizant
A juxtaposition of emotions which make her strangely but beautifully poignant
Like music vibrating with memory
Abound, mother and child are in their unspoken cocoon
A tie which evolves like the spring-time flower in bloom
Pregnant grey clouds amass their forces above
The tempestuous assault spearheaded by ominous tongues of flashing sliver
A war of the world Mother Nature perpetually delivers
Outstretched arms of trees groan and dance to the growl of the racing wind
A swelling mass of green canopies and legions of trembling leaves sigh to the chorus
Heavenly showers dimple the still face of the lake
The melting silver of rain hisses as it kisses the ground
Wooden arms of lakeside jetties join the orchestra with a monotonous creak
But silent musings urge the mind to seek
Something too high for syllables to speak
He thumbs the rosary bead from his mother
The one who had told him he was her significant other
Syllables of silence!
Soldiers clashing in a mass field of violence!
But neither mirrors the desolation growing in his heart
The lie is released with a great sigh
He never even had the chance to say goodbye
Tiny streams crawl down his face in the form of tears
Something his masculinity was born to fear
From the ashes rises the great survivor
The freshened grass bears itself upright like a frightened Marine’s spine
Sun-baked valleys traverse the land with unabridged abandon
Lustful pomegranate trees bloom like great bouquets
Casting umbrella-like roofs above the great lovers
The shade of crimson is a reflection of her facial skin
Casting him and her in the act the Bible declares as sin
The touch of her soft skin fills him with gluttonous zest
Heart pounding as her hand slowly guides his towards the valley of her small breasts
The fluctuating piano melody unleashes its woeful tale
Flourishing like the female laying under the gentle kisses from the male
The scene of the biblical crime reeks of the smell of friendly fingers
All that is permeated with the fragrance of hair and the musty smell that lingers
White sheets, wrinkled and displaced with the ignorance of children
Remnants of a war that is not waged and orchestrated with a flurry of chattering guns
But a battle that is waged with the nakedness of a thousand splendid suns
The play of passion; a clash of thighs; a hiss of breath; a brush of lips; a kiss of souls
A collage of sweat matted skin; a foolhardy digression from fate
The grand illusion that whisks him from the daggers of life which lay in wait
Distant memories become hazy like vapour in the summer air
Only the tears of storms are summoned by the son who was supposed to be his heir
Unable to survive the invasion of his mother’s amnesty
Choked to death he had been to uphold her vanity
She looks at him with tearful sapphire eyes
Unable to suppress her short, painful sighs
We were too young, she cries
Can’t you see?
And like he had done with his mother’s abrupt departure
He lets them be.
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