Juairia Haque Mahi
Hearkening the cacophonies of the melodious void,
I figured out that inside the euphoric carapace of mine,
I throb and bleed.
Kindred to a silent twilight before the eminence of absolute darkness,
wondering if it is melancholy.
If I let myself be carried away
with a rivulet of pine that is not mine,
or if the consciousness or anxiety of quietus
turns me an evil and impossible autumn,
it would leave me without light
under a humid mantle of fallen leaves.
But the black does not exist without the white.
The cold is only cold because we ken the heat.
Even death itself calls us; inexorably having life.
He who plays the dark part of my being,
brings me into the dense shadows of the Nordic nights;
when the gelid winter becomes melody;
with his impotence and prosaic insistence
on the same notes that culminate into a grey rain;
pervaded with saline evidence of emotions, and subterranean distress.
He annihilates himself every day.
When the reaper comes, the agony follows.
Faded vestige; a gate through the bloodstained mirror,
Even the essences of hopes are wraith stories,
albeit not being the chimera of horror.
I fumbled into the murkiness.
I stumbled and mumbled — afraid and solicitous,
like a fawn without its mother.
I’m trapped in an invisible cage.
The euphemism of euphonic states
and the cacophonies of lengthy silence gauged the significance of verbalisation.
I’m a kite with a string
that pulls me back to the ground
each time I try to soar up high in the ether.
I’m enervated of the chimera,
but blood will stop flowing in my veins
if I stop daydreaming.
The epilogue started of the tragic drama,
traversing and bridging the crevasse of existence and death.
I’m attuned to the wedge
that seems identical to the middle of a crack gutter;
where doobries pop out and want to touch me.
Days are gone, and I have survived.
I detest this looming trepidation of decaying,
and the unabating vex of sentience.
I latched on to the fact that our world is ugly, corrupt, and horrible.
But we stay.
Because we believe that existence is beautiful.
The writer is a part of the TDA Editorial Team.