Resurgence of a Poet


1962_by_donmezerm-d7w2sc3

Here, take a look at me, edify
this is who I have become
after seven seasons of betrayal
I stench, like the cold ash.

Alive, breathing in a heap
as if through the sunlight
that reaches me in my dark rooms,
of thick dusk, like coal.

These hands are soft and pale
frigid in internal turmoil
The air through those little window holes
that I couldn’t cover, evade my solitude,
after all harsh cries of life are chewed undigested

In my sleep I encounter your eyes
our words, not the voice
Your voice has slowly faded from my memory
As if a fabric, loosing its luster
when kept too long in bright

I am no longer who I once was
I look into the mirror,
to see demons in my eyes,
anguish and guilt imprinted.

I don’t blame fortune or ill-luck,
it’s all the same to me
I have found faith in realism now
I don’t dream distinctly

I am silent in poetry, doped in verity
Brewed in fate, with new faith
I hold hands of a emotion
I touch affection, with passive reluctance
I pen down old poems again, this time with a little serenity

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