A Melody of Tears

Land charred with the smoke of hope, dirt moist by red.

A valley filled with mist of anguish.

Tamed memories. Abandoned flesh. Sunken eyes. Soaked with hatred, naked, lonely days and treacherous nights stripped of life.

This is a tale, a single cry, of ashes dissolving into the land, a melody of tears, the day of red and black.

These are the visions of Great War.

I’m a man, undressed from his pride, surrounded by broken leaves, a broken man fading into the abyss, lingering on to few last broken words.

Burning sky, bleeding red and blue. A summer of green that bridged into a black river, rage determined to corrode stones, to dissolve lime of dark shores, bullet etched bloodstained stones.

The battle of brothers, with same blood in green veins, same red in depth of hearts but distance and wall between skins.

Drops of blood of half destroyed, frightened, interrupted shadow, of devoured corpses, the mute coldness of bodies, hand in hand, marching into oblivion.

Harsh taste of cold bodies that lingers in our mouth, the black dew that invades our lips. Eyes flushed with fire, drenched in mourning.

In the space of moments, nothing stays buried.

Ephemeral reality dissolved into confused self-worth, burning, one by one by one, and ever more and even more.

The great unrest isn’t with the ones who left but with the ones who have to follow.

In each of us a world, we weave a web of truths and lies, each of us an impression on canvas of life.

But nothing shows our ephemeral existence than the blackness of death, the web disappears like whispers of the wind.

We all lose ourselves in the belief death walks parallel to life, until the confrontation that shatters our reality, our twisted sense of mortality.

In shackles of reality, life leaks out more than we keep, like grains of sand slipping through the rusting thrill of drifting sea.

In final moments, to recall the storm that never abated, to rue the dead memories only instigates something primal; anger, which is camouflage for something without words, only pure darkness.

In moments of confusion, we wish for stillness in time, to sift through forever stretching silence, for one more whisper, one scintillating spark in black oblivion.

These are the forsaken thoughts of a tired heart. These are the thoughts, like a stream of consciousness, of a fevered brain.

In voices of reason, I’ll be a pariah. One day, true evil, in cloak of idols, will cage me in the air around me.

If you ask me where I come from, I do not know what to answer, I remember a day, nothing but burning water, shattered stones, pale heaven.

I only know the things that crossed my path, the memories of the darkness of a day gone by, shadows of wrinkled time. Perhaps I walk on unhinged fragments, motionless, in a wasteland of thorns.

In the depths of my heart what I do have is a frightened burning night, the thread-less rain, bitter fright. I am beyond human eyes, like the gray sky that abandons blind earth, like the mute coldness of the wind that watches over oblivion.

But I shall find myself contained in my own existence, I must return, I must abandon the cradle of aggression, imperfectly perfect, but that’s the way life is. I have to be wounded in this bitterness of earth, charred by burning of human dreams. All I wish for is a day for mourning of brothers, away and drifting from the time of anger, in the company of broken bones begging for peace.

At the edge of sinking unknown, I found religion and it’s rumored to be my savior.

To speak of my religion would sound a dirge for the nameless one.

Desert of scorched thoughts, blinded by paranoia.

The nameless, alone, in lonely eternity, ashamed and confused of ill flames, the day of red and black, tamed memories, memories salted forever by tears.

The quest, at last, a chance, perhaps inevitable, perhaps by chance.

On scale of time, rubble that was created, dust gathered and created man.

In gathered dust, we seek the essence of life, idols of clay, perfected by flames.

We perfect idols made of clay, deserted in a sea of ignorance, selective ignorance, influences of a broken god.

Moments, hours, stand still, hiding behind the shadow of shame, on a stale day, the conflagration of hate scream oblivion.

Beliefs tied up, betrayed, wounded and shattered, freedom obsolete in chains of incompleteness.

Can we see beyond Color and regions? Can we see beyond men and women?

If God is all but one, an epitome of everything, is it too much to ask whether evil breathes in almighty’s heart too? The perfection of it all lies in imperfections of faith.

Father of all created evil too, but we sifted faith and beliefs.

Humanity never so lost on the path of belief, never so close to God yet so far.

We hide inside our shell of wrong and right but we always forget even angels fall, even God cries.

We segregate ourselves by faith, by our conscience, by our beliefs.

We segregate God too, by classes of humanity.

Tell me, is it too much if I ask, are we face of evil, even if we believe God lies within each of us?

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This one was my most ambitious work. I request you to kindly take few moments to share your thoughts on this one.