Echoes of yesterday
Echoes of yesterday
They were lovers in the dark, hands groping in the
emptiness for something solid to hold. They were the same chords of the guitar
playing different songs; Melancholy and nostalgia
The dying embers of a once fierce flame. The last
raindrop on sandy soil. Their rhyme was a water droplet on cold asphalt
unfelt, forlorn, without cognizance.
February and July .Abandoned like crayons
of a child at play.
They were twin roaches looking for a home in the heart
of darkness, delving deep into the black mess. Getting lost in the harrowing
hues.Tumbling.Falling.Breaking.They were a whirlwind which gathered momentum
and gyrated to a great crescendo collecting everything on its path, spewing dust
clouding the whole town with wonder but upon daylight, the god of new beginnings,
everyone dusted their apparels the wind now just a memory.Forgotten.
She was July.Stoic.She was all of July stars, its sun,
moon and freeze, mirth and song. A half-moon hidden by the clouds on rainy nights,
unable to find its mate, unable to bathe on lonely black silent lakes. She was a
manic troglodyte in a blue hollow with her back against the light at the foggy
end.
He was February. He was fourteen colors of love. Twenty
eight scented roses red and white. Pain and calm. He had an additional black
rose . February had eyes of amber, endless
swirls of auburn, a sunset of their own.
In their choreograph of love, they danced to a dying melody.
They danced to the doleful tingle of a broken violin. Hands outstretched, never
meeting .Souls drunk on life stumbling into each other. Feet firmly planted on
the ground sinking into puddles of yesterday’s pains. Two hearts swallowed by the
distance. Two parallel lines, always close, never meeting.
He stole her virtue and swept her away with verse and song.
He was the poet from the Eastern Mountains. He was the son of a good woman.
They rode on the moon with silver clouds for wings for a day and a half, a week,
a month then nothing. February was thirsty and July was cold enough.
The flame now burns on in her heart. She has blisters
on the inside. She is chocking on unsaid words. July sinks to her knees
in a puddle of her own blood. The stench is beautiful, it awakens her demons.
It’s raining and its cold and she is drenched, a mess.
July is freezing in her little haven, the ice has
numbed her skin and she feels her blood turning hot in her veins. She can’t
feel her feet, she can’t breathe, each day worse than the last.
Someone should
tell July that staring at the sun won’t make her face bright. Someone should
remind her that even the black rose February gave her is beautiful too.
February was the wind, only felt, strong at times, calm on others but all the
same never seen.
Maybe July was too cold for love so February had no option but give her love
on a knife blade and had her lick the
insatiable fragments then watched from a distance as
she bled to her own death.
For on the other side of the cosmos, February is coyly
dressed up. He is fixing his eyebrows in the mirror and adjusting his tie. He
still has that deceptive smile. His chestnut colored eyes glow in the mirror
and he files his long nails. He picks up a red rose and heads for the door because on the other side of the door stands
the man, the man that February has always loved.The man that February is in love with.
lyanah.
Woow!๐ฒ
ReplyDeleteThe writing, the plot twist...
Everything❤️
I'm proud I know you๐
Thanks darling.
DeleteThis is utterly beautiful..
ReplyDeleteThank you.I'm humbled.
DeleteI love this ๐๐ looking forward to more of these
ReplyDeleteThank you Maureen
DeleteEish vanisha doing what you do best๐ฏ๐ฏ
ReplyDeleteAsante sana
DeleteAm inlove with this piece. Please write more of this dear. Congratulations!
ReplyDeleteMuch thanks beautiful soul
Deletewow i like it write more dear.congratultions๐๐
ReplyDeleteThank you so much
DeleteWow! I haven't read something so beautiful in a long while ๐๐๐
ReplyDeleteThis lovely I love the diction And how every word is coined to contribute to the thematic concerns of the poem..its lovely and keep it up
ReplyDeleteThank you for your kind words
DeleteWow, this writing is awesome, keep it up @Vanisha
ReplyDeleteThank you
DeleteNice piece
ReplyDeleteLovely piece. I like the way you lead on the reader then bring out the plot twist. And more so the phrases. Great work.
ReplyDeleteThank you.I'm humbled
DeleteWoow, the piece is just awesome
ReplyDeleteThank you .
DeleteThe British English is so woven to bring out a powerful and beautiful mosaic of words. It's the power of Literature given an opportunity to prosper in one's world. Viva Vivian. The diction commands. The flow pulls and the theme makes one reread.
ReplyDeleteThank you for taking your time to go through it. Thank you for the kind words. It's an honour.
DeleteIn love with this
ReplyDeleteWow... Nice piece
ReplyDeleteI love the piece
ReplyDelete