updated 6:13 AM GMT, Oct 24, 2014

  • Published in Poetry

 

 

 

a voice broken from its body
to winds clinging; drifting wayward
its hoarseness spiking hair on necks, bristling skins

a banshee-call haunting them
people huddling under collars; shifty-eyed
killers they were not, yet accomplices still – all

a sonar eclipse covering silences
making noiselessness extinct; saturating all vacuums
assassins becoming witnesses of own, foreverly unchanged

with ears without drums
and mouths without tongues;
with lidless eyes they had witnessed: dance of death

they thus befriended the night
with its black cover of solitude -
companions sharing phantasmal silences

they had scorned morning
with an elbow shield,
when its rays assaulted their lid eyes

they sought shadows and obscurity
to silence the quiet,
registering eyes

between two moons, dawn had found them de-skinned;
their raw flesh brown from being
exposed to its feeding spree

egging them on was the night,
and their abettors – hounds and onlookers,
with primal cries of blood-thirst

recall Septimus’ divination
"There is no crime."
he had overlooked sin
yet they stood over their prey,
watching it writhe. ignorantly satisfying
a hidden lust for self-abdication

 

when all the broken mouths rejoined:
“my sinner is my witness”
they chanted echolalic their purgatorial testimony

this, their wail, was
heterochthonously conjured
to requite the innocent sob:

“iqra kitabaka kafa binafsika al-yawma alayka hasiban”*
rippling the glass surface of time
it created cracks on a silvery plane
drilling all eternity within itself

sinner, hound, onlooker and night
stood as one to partake from
a feast of dark and gloom.

 

 

*Verse from Surah Al-Isra, chapter 17 (Holy Quran): "Read your record. Sufficient is yourself against you this Day as accountant."

 

 

 

 

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