Poetry

Six Feet Under

And the attar of the moist soil,
Dissipates and flows in turmoil,
Unearthed roots and abandoned stones,
The undertaker digging in a sea of moans,
Tears and Sweat,
Trickling down faces wet,
Wails and screams,
Smashed up like broken dreams,
The autumn wind kicks up a storm,
As they scurry to keep my corpse warm,
And a distant relative cries in forlorn pain,
In a cloud of gravel drenched in rain,
The gatherers chant obscure prayers,
In a language of the ancient slayers,
Questions, Answers,
With mourners and bystanders,
Staring at me as they lower me,
This grave is my bed,
And the soil is my blanket,
And the demons whisper in my ear,
And I scream as they draw near,
No,
I cannot let them eradicate,
My legacy as I suffocate,
The dying beats of my broken heart,
Silently fade away as my world falls apart.
And the wailing then ceases,
And my body gets afflicted with diseases,
My soundless screams resonate,
In this six foot coffin that gyrates,
Like a lonely ship in a stormy sea,
It lashes angry waves upon me,
And I do nothing,
Paralyzed and frozen,
By the memories of a lifetime forgotten,
I drown in the sea of sand,
Wishing for just a solitary hand,
To save me from the voices that near,
Oh God,
Please make the dancing devil disappear…

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Poetry

The Mortician’s Last Day

Let the sun beat down and wash away your tears
Lets the ground spark clouds of dust in your space
And as you stand at the door to the ladder up above
Let your heart be strong enough to fight your fears

Make no mistake
This isn’t an anthem
Or a gospel choir
Or prophetic words from the phantom
These are words forged from raw iron
Pounded from the wreckage of my derelict garden
As I pick the pieces from trophies
Discarded like scattered memories
I melt them
In a pool of bitter venom
Yes, I used the word
There is no escaping it
It’s like the black cloud approaching it
Like the funeral home dimly lit
As I stand in front of the coffin box
Wondering whether I won or lost
Whether I was cursed or absolved
Or did I push myself deeper into the asphalt
No,
It’s too late
To wipe away the scars
On my broken face
All I have to do is just stand
Under this molten sun
Say a prayer and hope for
Atleast one bullet in this loaded gun

Let the sun beat down and wash away your tears
Lets the ground spark clouds of dust in your space
And as you stand at the door to the ladder up above
Let your heart be strong enough to fight your fears

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