Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.135.198.159
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
It could never contain these things inside, 
they amass so high –mountains of them

Whispers from the many who have ventured in,
now silent echoes heard till its rhythm stops

Weakness pays a visit now and then to interrupt
the day to day pulse, adding things to make it drip-drop…

I can see pain whenever I want, just peer through its scrapbook,
edge worn pictures of the many who still whisper litter the pages

Some days I have no use for it; it gets beaten so badly, unrecognizable... 
I excuse it from function, I shelf it, it can serve its purpose some other day

One day soon maybe I’ll lock the doors, shut all out and purge the halls,
seek the dark corners where voices still whisper and relieve the books of its photographs

Reward those who took liberty with it with an onslaught of my own,
riding on the wings of vengeance as I send pain in search for a new home

I guess this won’t change my vital organ of flesh,
still unable to hold what it produces, none for the better I suppose

Doomed by its addiction to the matters of its namesake,
no ride of retribution can cure it, nor rash recourse redress it…

Since the Sculptor’s last bit of clay produced it –it has been strong in its beat
and pinned to the sleeve of my life, where like many it will remain precariously exposed

Shielding it will only reduce its splendor, a sun masked behind an overcast of guarded feelings….
Sealing its doors, hardens it; shelving it lends to atrophy; sending indiscriminate flames throughout its contours will cleanse love and pain alike 

Let whispering voices echo its halls, and allow its library of annals to provide a refuge for pictures,
Love will have a place in it to live and to die and with both provide aging testimony of immortal words…






Written 10 December 2013 at North KAIA -Kabul, Afghanistan (North Kabul International Airport)
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required