Constellation Taurus Chapter Three

An apologue of retribution


The recrimination

 the blossom of trees so finely coloured

promise great beauty in burgeoning passion under a raiment of sorrow

she goes through the somnolent years in gold and scarlet finery

like spring lounged on delicate branches, yawning

till her luminous delusions broke her rage

her eyes covered in dew on July mornings

show what comes in beauty, wrecks the heart

and her pleading breath beat down my body till I wither grey

a kiss, dangerous as her faith, had the stars gather in their circles

the collar chafed our necks;

he weeps along his broken thoughts:

the ghost of you is but a shroud of mist

a screaming gale amidst the haze

the revenant I failed to oust

to you adjoined I stay, ensnared by the divine thread

I topple over when you touch me

because a trace of you remains

a cold scintilla of your aquamarine stare

a colossal scenery breaks there

an ocean in uproar, pulling

a collection of flesh and bones

your supple, elegant skeleton

such an inexhaustible tragedy

oscillating hopelessly

the walls threw back the echoes of your voice

the irrefutable whisper, summons

a quiet gift of rapport, dispersed

bound to these molecules with high affinity

your perpetuating purrs, so saturated with divinity

your words, mountains I can not carry

you are but a ghost, you always follow me

all memory of you condensed in a momentary gleam

a sudden judder of emotion and I am weak;

you are a hurricane within yourself

don’t trample on me when I lay

can’t you see that I’m ill

can’t you see I’m in pain;

the night is sick with reminiscence

heavy curtains cut out draughts

the dark is motionless, at last

deprived of sight we reconcile

a body leans over him

recognise her when she comes

a shredded phantasm

a poignant reminder

matters not what you call her

her deep booming laugh still reverberates around the room;

don’t you know you have my eyes?

I’m hunting you, a god in my stamping ground

feral beast, groaning in your earthly garment

you akin to me and my ultramarine shadow that plummet

down earth’s buried cinders, remembering the sweet cry of hope blossoming, rekindled, under winter’s bitter days biting on the sleeping coat of spring;

with time, words are effaced by the rain

to his dismay she left him

a man’s retention of love’s fascination

the surplus of displeasure prevailed;

the falcon hovers over the lion’s den

we burn the frankincense dreaming of relief

enchanted by the wilderness of river’s rushing stream

the woods are deep and his shadow speaks

stomping on the crimson leaves;

the night was too quiet for sleep

a thousand eyes all rained upon him

in keen delight, sang the ode of approbation

praise delusions for past blessings

the misapprehensions you claimed to defend

a semblance of a chimera

you keep undressing

layers of conjecture, false prayers

even as the tide receded

he remained keen on the cheering;

thus became of great men, a monument of admiration

the last of our songs and our poems, woven into the demeaning cloth;

times of tribulation, rebroadcast

a future shredded into fiasco and dust

great measures may be necessary

in order to avert that calamity

misery, oppressed came to pay its tributes to him

he bore his afflictions with some dignity

through the past and present

betting on old relished victories;

maddened with rage, one might fail to understand

an unswerving hankering rests in chest

and there it shall stay until the rest of his days;

like a creature threshing in a net

his cries grew louder in the end

nothing any of us could do

toil on till decay and be content in the end

an ornament for his pining heart

lost amidst familiar faces

in time grew indifferent to reason or blame

and seemed to carry only

the world’s suffering on his face;

there in the shallows, amidst the mire where his darkened thoughts wallow

a lotus blossoms, one petal at a time;

come now, you are old

a man half mourned

broken at the best

when the earth disappears under your feet

and takes all you once held dear

eternity awaits you

it awaits me;

a cleaving hand pours the celebration wine

savouring the ruddy grapes and their many secrets

in the night the violin sings, disturbing the stillness

she rubs the roseate ointment on her maudlin lips

proud murmurs of the ostentatious heart

these are the flowers of a nation’s downfall;

his breath arises upon the threshold

each one confronted by suppression

no longer found suffice in the glory of his dream

the estranged heart, disavowed

can sink into the waters deep

if dammed enough

but dear your lungs so heavy

will not breathe clear

until all is released;

an intermission was the best he could get

before the next violent blow

came to make amends

stifled by the violet fumes

he shrieked and wailed at the heightened pain

his once robust body sentenced to wither

by the one he made undone

a soul torn up and unfulfilled

what curse came out from those lips

will have him no doubt condemned

a slow promise to moulder

no one to repent to for past errors

one more tear at that heart

anguish, still razor sharp

still keen to tear him whole

some poetic justice or mere fate

the fear of being brought to reckoning

a daunting and inevitable hell

you should have known ignorance is death

one last lesion in his chest

pleading in silence to the wind

for some brief respite from trepidation

with the last of his strength he might try to escape

but retribution knows a way

to strip you nude and bare

a sudden realisation arrives

the consequences of his decisions

proved to be calamitous

a sight not for the sober eye;

a forgotten hand might give him a hard thrust

back into the past

where the soul suffocating in regret

knew I could not be forever

banished from his chest

ultimate denial, can you see

he’s always closing his eyes

as if hurts to see

me or the truth of why we

must shatter and smash to smithereens

there is no anodyne

for this hollow sunder;

now nights are nightmare ridden

some cruel imagery to burn the last of his sleep

and sweat out the terror from his pores

the ink lay dry on his flesh

some marvellous thing

permits the skin to wear

a collection of wounds

time moves on

the inclemency of each season passing becomes his enemy

some intoxicant

or herbal brew

might help easy his soul

to sink into comfort

before the ghost of his solitude

my love, you are the one who scarred and sorrowed me

and I embosom you to my spirit for you are most searing

your hooves tied to my feet and a cord reeling

the shackle laid bare on the anvil, endowed with moonlight shimmer

withstood the sword and vigour of tarnishing rivers

the fetter of our union, burdensome and imperishable

don’t you know our feet are tied in this timeless whirlpool?


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