“Quagmire”

A waft of agonised hope lurking somewhere,
Dripping down from the blazing sun on a hot summer day,
Pooling around the outline of my eyes,
Running down on my cheeks, clasped in unshed tears.
Some nights, whispering in a grieving baritone
While entwining itself on scattered threads of the moonshine,
Creating an erratic tapestry of light and shadows.
Sometimes, during a quiet sunset,
Splintering into a cocktail of colours
Purple, pink, coral, golden;
All knitted into a myriad shade of a resplendent sorrow.
On an overcast day,
Crashing down on the shore of my renounced prayers,
Wetting their parched eyes, glowing after self resuscitation.
Often gathering in a smooth coarseness of a winter evening fog,
Marching down the sunken alleys, bereft roads.
In a ghost like form, crossing my aimless path
Leading my gaze while stealing my heart beats.
Woven into a stale breath of dying calla lilies,
Wailing over a blizzard of the unforgiving autumn,
Destined to follow a gust of wind or bowing to every step of a passerby.

This exotic hashish of hope breaking into despair,
Or despair trembling with a need in hope’s embrace,
Desperate to be possessed by an oath of silver redemption,
Sings tunes of turmoil and tranquility.
This is a soul living torment and triumph together,
Where they elicit life from each other to quell it for each other.
It’s a broken existence, stitching & mending itself, ever so slowly.
It’s a phantom resolve, crumbling into countless wounds, ever so silently.
It’s a battle,
Where wining and losing blending their essence and intent;
One emerges to beckon the other,
One dies to reckon the other,
Hope and despair, flake and flare….