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Equanimity in Pandemonium


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. 

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