The rain strikes hard against the windowpanes,
The wind begins to howl—a sullen man,
Drunk on the night’s stupor—it tears the elms
In spite. I listen to my heart’s content
The yelp, the bark, the screech, the fits and starts
That do their worst to little lives outside.
From time to time, I hear the sounds of doom,
Rattle of bones, scuttle of restless rats,
The chuckle spreads from air to air. Sweet Maiden,
Your image flutters in the yellow light
Inside this room. And for an hour I stop
And stare, my senses all numbed with delight.
You stand there, tender as the night, and pale
As the moon. I say, ‘Oh, that’s the paradise
In bloom.’ I think and think until my thoughts
Become nothing but thoughts. I sigh for what
I am, for what I never could become.
I weep for weeping comes quite easily.
Stop all the clocks, Sweet Maiden, stop the time,
Silence my life with muffled voice and muted
Sorrow. Dig up the earth, let me lay down.
Buzzing and humming flies circle above
And scribble unknown clues that keep repeating
The cold lament that everything is dead.
I thought your love would last eternally,
But you are gone and here I must remain,
Watching the rain and listening to the wind.
Your image fades away, and what remains
Is yellow light that fades and dies. Alas—
I scream and weep for I was ever born.
Poetry by Bibek
Read 182 times
Written on 2017-12-16 at 14:55
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email