Fatal agony of death

Rays of light through fences round my heart leaking

Devouring the shadows of fear and sparing my shaking,

Planting nostalgic thrills of hasty sunset sinking.

Unwelcome tears stream down my soaked cheeks,

And sow misty illusions and teasing tricks

When a lass ever haunting my soul sighs and speaks.

With a slowly healing heart aching and bleeding,

A deaf past displayed a strong unyielding

Ans endeavored to cheat on my skill of eluding.

Chilly waves of memories digging my brains,

Drawing crimson narrow paths on my veins,

Leaving back dense hills of sorrowful pains.

Lonely eyes with burning tears dropping,

And a wounded mind swollen by weeping

I knelt down to beg way to her heart lupin.

An evil joy sought way to the gate of my time

And sentenced me to live lapses devoid of rhyme :

With no hints to decipher the realm of mime.

A huge cluster of ravens hardly flying

Veiled the sun and deafened me with shriek yelling

And nested on the torn side of my feeling.

My eyes closed, back deep in dark caves,

Saw ambitions wrapped in the future of old slaves,

Saw them sobbingly digging their own graves.

Soul music rhythms sewn with suffering,

Bound with strings of injustice darkness was bearing,

Entombing the lights aims of fear and scaring.

A widow’s mournful voice whispered over my fence,

Thrilled my silence,stole my smile and gave it sense,

Split my emotions , captured the reins of my defense.

Two lonely stars of a sore happiness rebeling

To join the sky of a love fortress crumbling,

And to fade away like a prisoner’s calling.

The blank screen on yonder high mountain

With laws of love miserably miswritten

Eagerly awaiting my correction and raising the curtain.

I am looking for my soul’s self not raving,

I am after the affection that orphan time is weaving

In unknown verses of famous posts still living.

Blues relating slaves tales with sung stories,

Involving my indifference to sail inside worries

And translating my steps into queer series.

Dream of a lasting peace is slipping away

Turning my steel hills into small heaps of hay,

Damping off the head of my imagination tree.

W.Aziz 1987

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