Poet’s Note: This is a ‘dark’ poem, depicting -in poetic detail- a man regretting his actions upon the moments preceding his death. If this isn’t your proverbial ‘cup of tea,’ then I perfectly understand if you don’t read it. Otherwise enjoy!
FROZEN NIGHT
Winter embraces the naked trees-
clinging, engulfing,
breathes down their limbs- fragile, splayed,
heavy with icicles,
dripping
upon the frozen grass-
darkened emerald
sprinkled with crimson dew
under this gray sky- half dead
gutted with bright holes
staring down
with its thousand eyes
upon my angular face:
torn- the lines lifeless.
No longer am I
who I’m supposed to be.
A filthy, caustic screen of time
a smog- blinding, suffocating,
separates me from you,
from us.
No longer the melting sun-
upon this world of constant night-
in warm splinters of broken sunlight
does shower promises of brightness,
of purification.
I tried turning my back
tried not to vomit these scarlet tears
but amid whiter ghosts
staring down from ashen heavens,
my white flag disappeared-
crumpled beneath their feet-
and I lost.
I lost
to the monster I created,
to the monster I became;
the fire that once burned in my heart,
fueling me, pushing me,
now devours me, slowly,
chilling,
as I lie suspended over this chasm
floating midair
along the parallel axes of time and life
somewhere between now and then
between myself and my monster
between alive and otherwise…
****
POET’S NOTE: I do not long for polyglot murmurs of adulation (though I wouldn’t mind them! ;)) I only want to be heard. So please do leave me a comment below, as a reader (your precious thoughts) or as a fellow writer/poet (critique, mistakes, suggestions…). All criticism, harsh or otherwise, constructive or not, is welcomed, and don’t hesitate to leave me a link of your piece/s (if you do write, of course) in your comment so that I can get back at you. That’s all, for now.
-The Manoj Arora.