I've not been there before, but it smells like hell here within. Everything tastes like sin, like crumbles of damaged nails and dead skin. Uncovered bones; worn and bare.
Washing the curse off your hair, cold water runs in a hurry to hit the floor. While these fragile walls do not seem strange; I am familiar with this broken lock and this open door. I can hear the heavy loads ripple peacefully beneath the cracks in your feet. It burns you dead, but you're not bothered by its heat.
It's your rough hands that shake upon the startling thrill down your spine. Doesn't it feel like dirt? As though your throat is choked with soil...but all tangled with lavender, basil and pine. Beautiful toxins inside you; infected and corrupt twines that hold your scrambled pieces firm.
Perchance you prune the shabby bushes and clip the dry leaves,
save the stiff twigs in doleful tombs and bury some ignorant seeds.
But where? Where could you go with all the rotten roots and terrible deeds.
This poem is mouth watering with powerful words, explosive!
To begin to break down this poem is something I dont think needs to be done. It's metaphorically brilliant! The only thing I am going to touch on is that to look at a person, can make you feel death perhaps... the sins and deeds of others..
Just a spectacular poem!
1 year ago
by Ben Pickard
What a wonderful poem, Rania, stacked with imagery and silky rhyming.
What struck me about this was the layout considering the rhyming nature of the poem. They're not often set out like this and so when I began reading, I was expecting more a free verse write.
Washing the curse off your hair, cold water runs in hurry to hit the floor.
All I may suggest is 'runs in a hurry'. Entirely up to you, of course.
^ Nodding my head in agreement to all this beautiful lady had to say after reading!
The descriptions come alive and haunt the reader, put me into this world, this contradiction, this contrast of "beautiful toxins". It reminds me of the soot of lust, of something innocent that is taken advantage, so instead of a pure intention, it turns muddy.
Wowzers. Such imagery. I'm blown away! I would quote specifics, but you've created one astounding image after the next with this poem.
"Everything tastes like sin, like crumbles of damaged nails and dead skin."
Unfortunately I can taste this in my mouth because you have described it so well. Yuck. Bland, dry, a little bit salty.
"Doesn't it feel like dirt? As though your throat is choked with soil...but all tangled with lavender, basil and pine."
Again, a taste in my mouth like the one you've described.
"Save the stiff twigs in doleful tombs and bury some ignorant seeds.
But where? Where could you go with all the rotten roots and terrible deeds."
Powerful stuff. I love the question. It's vital. Following with "Where could you go..." ending without a question mark. Perfection. You're not asking. You already know.