Fear Unloathing
And now faced with the
Servant and the master,
It was an aggressive cancer
That was searching, calculating,
It’s next move,
Somewhere to park those thousand thoughts,
In the dark, maybe,
It’s tempting;
Pre-empting to prevent further damage,
But the voodoo with rocks was on the cards
Pushing stones into the eyes
As the ferryman waits for you to die.
Not ruffled by new faces
It was an evolution of sorts,
An invitation, a declaration
To dance on my skin
And slip into the holes that are gored,
Reminiscent of a sad cartoon,
Plunged into a red room
Secured for 451 days,
With no time to prepare
How do you proceed?
As one, as no one,
In death we can meet,
The inevitable place of rest
In Gehenna,
Awaits the banshee
And we can wallow in our regrets.
My head, so heavy
I struggle to look up and see,
“Is it really you?” I ask myself
“ Is this really me?”
Like a mirror for observation
Of the secretive kind
Only on reflection will I see what’s on your mind.
I’ve consumed all that I’ve seen,
Things that should never have been,
I’m screaming at the walls
As the violence is deafening.
But when my vision is broken,
Bruised, battered and blurred,
My descent into the vortex
My voice will not be heard.
As the golden rays of the sun
Fall through the cracks,
My solace is incandescent
The soil cold and black.
Awaiting, generating
No warmth, no hand to hold,
Despairing at the thought
At how the sun became so cold.
I let it in, and it took everything,
Then I showed it the door
And now
It’s yours.
Azra Pathan © 2019
For Loathe