And the cicada bellows a horror tune,
Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night,
That petrifying screech of intense terror.
And its horror,
Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves,
With an abandoned pain
Of a long-forgotten tale.
And somewhere the oak leaves rustle,
Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call,
Or to soothe an ear bleeding velvet of woes,
Or to ruffle the rough pages inked with distorted handwritings,
Scratch poetry written loosely,
The pages repeatedly falling down,
As if the God’s way of saying “Nah, don’t write any further”.
Somewhere a broken warrior,
Loses a fight,
In the battlefield of life,
And the cicada is now the sound of vanquished hope,
But the wind is the voice of the Almighty,
Encouraging words of hope beckon this warrior,
To make her realise,
Broken she is,
But destroyed she is not.
The pieces though shattered are a part of her,
If binded well,
The battle ends.
And here I stand amidst this thick haze,
This hazy envelope of the mysterious night,
Foamed with the tales of broken souls,
Valiant, yet short of hope.
Eerie for some, comforting to plenty the night does sound,
But to me it’s sound of the ringing death knell,
As I stand up at the window sill,
And gaze up at the distorted moon,
Purposelessness crawling up my torn skin,
Hopeless eyes of archaic stones,
Shot with the hard-hitting lunar light,
The fire of this plight burns more bright,
My vision blurred,
Eyelashes drooping like showered rooftops,
My heart thuds against my chest,
Heavier than the crashed hopes of my past.
And I then see my destination down,
And feel the desire to taste,
The unfathomable joy of death.
Just one step,
And it all ends.
The final destination,
Of my psychotic pain.
I step ahead and fall,
A feeling I’ve never felt before I feel in my final breaths,
I hope you are happy now,
Do thank me for the boon I’ve bestowed upon you.
I thump down on the concrete ground,
My head hitting this pavement,
Has perhaps overpowered the cicada’s call.
My nerves bursting red in wrath,
I have pooled the pavement with demonic tears,
I feel the freedom through my deadened veins,
Hello guys! So I’ve written this one about my perception of the night and what it symbolizes. The poem is grave, I do agree, and I would honestly love to know in the comment section whether my poems are now getting repetitive concerning themes and if yes, do suggest some topics you would like to read. I am planning to make this blog more interactive.😊
Anyway, this poem is about a person who craves her rightful freedom which has been stolen from her and feels the only way to now be free would be death. The ending of the poem, however, can have many views. In fact, this whole poem can have various perceptions of it. What I intend to believe, is that she wishes to be with someone whom she is not free to, and is so driven by that despair and so disturbed with confusion that she believes that it is impossible for her to be free with the one she wants to be, but wants to be free nevertheless. In the end, her despair overpowers the desire for the initially wanted freedom and she only wants to be free of the gloom which has sadly consumed her life, causing her to commit suicide.
Basically, the message I truly intend to convey is sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is let them be free. Give them their time and space. The freedom of choice and belief. Let them be them and love them for it. Of course, misuse of freedom is extremely wrong, but everyone deserves their rightful freedom to not make them feel like a prisoner of birth. Do share your views and perceptions on this one.
Also read: Before You End Your Life – Writing My Heart Out
And, the writing style of writing ‘You’, in the end was learnt by me through Miss Gabriela M.’s works, who is a US university professor and author of three novels and an exceptional poet.
Also, my friend has too started a blog and I was hoping you guys could take out some time to check it out here.
Thank you for your support!
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