Friday, 27 July 2012

Untold Combats...!


Unchiselled as a child's pointless search;
my solitary remains, you jagged stones;
that my frantic hands lock quietly away;
from the unholy eyes of glinting barrels;

and i see them faces, rain down gently;
to beckon our bruised and fancy palms;
as time pauses to see how life passes;
from hands to hands and eyes to eyes;


their faces, anon as the mirrors discreet;
some obscured, whileas others discrete;
Like the deathknock, like a divine tap;
an appointment at the haywire address;
 

since absorbing into hideous faces
achromate;
and lying still thus, all across the pavement;
in solidarity, with the noble warm red;
flowing gently away, from the faces to be;


how noble were the lips, when they lied;
to the doting eyes of a restless mother;
how devotional the heart that pretended thus;
to believe in the limber squeeze of a son's palms;
 

So Lord does bask, as angels pay tributes;
to heavenly tomb of these martyred hands;



4 comments:

  1. eyes may be the windows to the soul, but hands tell the story of one's life. Some are scarred, some callused, some smooth.

    I like this poem, it feels somehow slightly happier than the previous ones :D

    hoping to read more soon!

    ReplyDelete
  2. eyes that become witness to the stories written on palms start dreaming even while being awake n agape, intermittent nightmares not withstanding...!

    Thank U Much, I wish it was about happiness, though it sure is about the painful joy of losing...!

    Hope u r well

    ReplyDelete
  3. mezraab,
    and painful loss makes you cherish everything so much more!

    ReplyDelete
  4. I hate Ur optimism (or am being envious of it) :) !

    ReplyDelete