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A dark poem

I wrote this poem late at night, when I woke up the next morning I found it too grim to attribute it to myself. It definitely is a work that came from darker recesses of my mind, or perhaps I was possessed…

(One small note for friends and family reading this poem – seeking allusions to my present, real life would be a grand folly; rest assured I remain my jovial usual self ;-))

Feelix Mendelssohn, a 19th century composer (he, like Mozart, had a short life; 35 years – 1809-1847), wrote a set of beautiful solo pieces for piano. These little pieces, collectively known as “Songs without words for piano”, transcend a range of vivid emotions and are certainly not the cause behind starkness of this poem. I had written a small verse around a similar theme few months ago; the words came back to me with recurring clarity, prompting this poem.

Songs Without Words

When our songs lost words
And those words lost their meanings
I questioned my inner self, my soul
I wanted solitude
Indeed, I had now earned it
And yet that gleam in my eyes wasn’t joy
I wonder when, if at all, it’ll stop raining

Life once was simple, uncomplicated
It was after all about just “I” and “Me”
Our hearts stirred and lives got intertwined
I learned, albeit with great efforts
New words, such as “Us” and “We”
But now; during days, I masquerade being alive
And at nights I walk in sleep, mumbling soliloquies

Driving home last night I felt your head,
Go down affectionately on my right shoulder
I whispered, something gently in your ear
You looked back but never answered,
Blinded by a flash of light, all I heard was a loud crash
The breeze was balmy, scorching, muggy
And now, the scarlet tainted night smolders

posted: 23.3.04

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