Afterlife

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It’s happened.
Easy as harvesting red berries,
simple one skillet chicken alfredo pasta—
do not clean the pan,
the brown bits at the bottom add flavor to the sauce
just as snippets of life flash before the eyes,
seconds before blackness claims us
and we are led into a purgatory of sorts;
do I intimidate?
Does my skin sublime remind you of yesteryear’s lust
and unresolved feelings?

Poetic religion is not for everyone,
it crucifies nights and befuddles the day,
distracts,
torments and leaves the senses shredded—
like blue cheese and strawberry salad
beguiles
until one is left with no choice but to abandon all means
of rational thought and succumb;
does it appeal to you?

I gaze toward the ashen clouds contemplating life
that’s been left behind,
an orchestra of lovers and foes plays on the nightstand,
yet with one eye half-open
I look on as if waiting for events to alter themselves;
nobody can be fine all the time.
There is a kiss amidst these words, it’s for you
dear reader mine,
like a recurring dream
I keep coming back to life with the fume of a Poet’s sigh.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Truls Espedal, 1973 painting – Pinterest

Join me as I invite others to write Gothic poetry tonight
on dVerse, the last round of Poetics in 2020 💝

Posted for Poetics: Exploring Gothic as a Literary Genre @ dVerse Poets Pub

42 Replies to “Afterlife”

  1. Wow, Sanaa, you’ve set the bar extra high with this poem! I love the coquettish aside:
    ‘do I intimidate?
    Does my skin sublime remind you of yesteryear’s lust
    and unresolved feelings?’
    and the thought that ‘an orchestra of lovers and foes plays on the nightstand’. The final line is so amazing!

  2. “I gaze toward the ashen clouds contemplating life
    that’s been left behind,
    an orchestra of lovers and foes plays on the nightstand,”

    Oh my, that sounds sinister!

  3. Oh my gosh Sanaa! You are a difficult act to follow ☺️ Your poem read like a mystery novel and your use of words was spectacular. I particularly loved ‘an orchestra of lovers and foes plays on the nightstand’ Wonderful!

  4. How in the world could only you write a Gothic love letter to death, by Death, touching on many of the fears, thoughts and projections we all have as we approach the Great Transition? A fantastic ebon ride and read; this is atypical for you, and kudos for that.

  5. This is wonderful, Sanaa, I just love it:
    ‘Poetic religion is not for everyone,
    it crucifies nights and befuddles the day,
    distracts,
    torments and leaves the senses shredded’
    I will follow your quote with one from Paul Simon:
    ‘If that’s my prayerbook
    Lord let us pray’ 🙏

  6. This is like a recurring dream, or a nightmare of a purgatory. This reflection will stay with me:

    I look on as if waiting for events to alter themselves;
    nobody can be fine all the time.

    Thanks for hosting.

  7. It is not quite midnight, I am in bed, alone. The festive holiday lights have been extinguished by timers and the dark has settled in. But these blankets can’t keep out the chill this poem calls forth. I’ll hunker down and pray for that fume…

  8. The second stanza most definitely does appeal to me! Poetic religion in this stanza is defined brilliantly, it isn’t easy to be so aware of life and allow our emotions to be shredded in this awareness. The whole poem is one of my favorite’s from you! 👏💖

  9. The tone of this reminds me of a short story and I can’t for the life of me remember the title. It’s about slicing peaches and the peaches in question are the breasts of the villain’s lady love. Nasty and dark.

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