The rumor has been hotly denied;
has been swept under the rug,
has been clenched as water is in hands,
and while loftier skies
turn a blind eye, I cannot help but wonder
if hemorrhaging of souls is a circle with no end—
a holocaust,
where larks continue to sing on bravely.
I have watched the orchids bloom for months;
watched as hopes of millions
scramble to the end of the pier, vividly alive,
the air surrounding us is cold,
and the ground resembles a medicinal cabinet,
and yet,
death is not the worst here—
in my mind’s eye, I hear cries at night,
detritus words launched with a fervour
unmatched,
a mother huddled in the doorway
continuing to soothe, to brush her daughter’s hair,
as outside the night darkens.
The forbearance of dawn is unyielding;
blooming buds oblivious to condition of mankind,
together it’s a concrete hymn,
an ode to all that is breath, a nod to all that is strife;
I wonder,
just as winter ice can hide dead fish and jetsam
beneath an urban pond,
can offenders hide behind propaganda,
for needle in a haystack has turned into a stack
of bloody syringes,
and mascara runs like heart-shattering fault lines;
but rumor continues to be hotly denied.
I awake from five hours of sleep at best;
the night refuses to interlace his fingers with mine,
there is a beauty in the way we bleed,
sharing stories, dusting the shelves of consciousness,
to reveal the scars beneath,
I, an accidental Poet,
carry it like music, rosier lips uttering the language
of dusk and all that is indescribable,
let us be resilient, let us dream a little,
I cannot remember the last time the earth had smiled;
the wounds on her mulish
and green—do you see where I am going with this?
The rumor has been hotly denied.
Photo credit: Purple petaled flower by Emma Gossett, Unsplash
Inspired by the title of a book called “A Hemorrhaging of souls,” by
author Nicola Furlong. The theme of war came to mind 🥠
Posted for Open Link LIVE – April Edition @dVerse Poets Pub
The larks that sing, the bloody syringes, the first line that wraps around and comes back at the end….it feels like a powerful film almost…dramatic verse, at its finest…
Thank you so much, Ain 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
Yes, the dramatic pitch of this piece punches like a poetic fist, hard and unyielding. You cover so many bases, speak for so many more, tearing off lids and lies, and using truth like a welding torch, splitting gaps in iron curtains. Very impressive. I liked “I, an accidental poet, carry it like music, rosier lips uttering the language of dusk…”
Thank you so much, Glenn 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
You read this so beautifully tonight, my friend. This is filled with imagery that kicks at my gut.
“a mother huddled in the doorway
continuing to soothe, to brush her daughter’s hair,
as outside the night darkens.”
AND
” winter ice can hide dead fish and jetsam
beneath an urban pond,
can offenders hide behind propaganda,
for needle in a haystack has turned into a stack
of bloody syringes,
and mascara runs like heart-shattering fault lines;”
So very powerful! And your writing, especially when read aloud, is so thoughtful. It’s like my thoughts in my head coming out of your words in the poem…your voice becomes the reader’s voice. Just beautifully done!
Awww gosh! Thank you so much, Lillian 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
The forbearance of dawn is unyielding;
blooming buds oblivious to condition of mankind,
together it’s a concrete hymn,
an ode to all that is breath, a nod to all that is strife
Nature continues to remind us of the truth, that even this will pass and a new day will dawn. Demented lies continue to propagandize across Russia!
Thank you so much, Dwight 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
A stunning poem, Sanaa: so powerful to hear you read!
Thank you so much, Ingrid 😀 so good to see you 💄❤️
The dead fish and jetsam under the winter ice as compared to propaganda jumped out for me. There are several phrases here that stand out but it’s the whole of the thing that is best.
Thank you so much, Shay 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️
Such an impactful write, Sanaa, the imagery packs a punch!
Thank you so much, Punam 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄❤️
Catching up with comments…..Sanaa, this was so interesting to read and dissect. Hearing you present it live was captivating. I was especially drawn to this line and the placement of it….”I cannot remember the last time the earth had smile”. I hope lies are exposed and the earth can muster a small grin.
Thank you so much, Mish 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄❤️
Hi Sanaa, this is indeed a powerful poem. I immediately thought of Ukraine when I read it, but I think the strength of the poem is that it doesn’t reference a specific location. That’s what gives it that universality that all the best poems have.
Thank you so much, Jim 😀 so glad you liked it 💄❤️