Eyes or are they rings of fire
Desire at the fringes reddens and rakes
Swollen like a pregnant belly
Reproduce a cry, when the water breaks
Oft they will hallucinate
And abnegate what present be
Cobwebs will form on the palpebras
Rewinding and playing memories
The broken mirror of things past
Where sunshine brims the brow with sweat
Reflects a sorry soul who will
Drown in nostalgia and regret
The insidious glance of Used-to-be
Might wound some dreams with jabbing darts
Those eyes that must casualties see
Will also truly purge the heart
Anon in forgetfulness they will smile
Bounce back the moon as they once did
A rising tide from the shore draws back
Soft pressing of palms on the lids
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It amazes me how you can take one of the most ubiquitous subjects in literature and still make it completely your own... away from the "cobwebs", "broken mirrors" and overwhelmingly "insidious glance" of the literary past.
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:) I try. Thankyou for liking it so. I think emotions when experienced anew have the force to churn out new thoughts.
ReplyDeleteBorrowed words can never truly exorcise or deal with your most intimate feelings of pain and loss or gain and gaiety. You know that mankind has been surging with those same feelings since time immemorial, nonetheless, your emotions are so private they alienate you at a personal level from everyone and everything around you. At some level, you are really really own your own.
But then again, you have to use a language available to all alike. And you do your permutation and combination, and at times you go back and consult that archive of verses you've read, and movies you've seen, and events that transpired around you,and you can not help but dip your ink in a used pot.
I don't know how far it's possible but, the satisfaction of a creation truly truly your own must be unparalled. Ask the modernists, shall we? :)
lovely.whose ur muse hina????
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ReplyDeleteWow...
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