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Mercy Misreads

—I Want To Die—



I would unman myself—and pass beyond
the sovereign grammar of the speaking wound,
where grief, articulate, must still respond
and prove the very blood wherein it’s drowned;
for what no human tongue can charge or plead
enters thy mercy, sanctified by grace,
while grief that needs no alphabet is freed
before thy thought can summon it to face.

Let me be black thunder tethered to sun,
a green flame, feathered lightning clothed in flesh,
whose wing outruns the verdict of the One,
lest naming fetter fire it cannot bless;
let silence speak where mortal language bleeds—
till thy hand finds my wing, and mercy reads.

griefironylanguagesilencesonnet

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Alison A Smith

August 19, 2026 at 3:55 AM

This is a truly masterful sonnet that left a lasting impression on me. Your use of the traditional Shakespearean form to house such raw, untamable grief creates a brilliant tension throughout the piece. The phrase "sovereign grammar of the speaking wound" immediately arrested me—it so perfectly captures the exhaustion we face when forced to translate our deepest traumas into digestible, everyday language. The elemental imagery in the third quatrain is breathtaking and elevates the poem into something mythic. By asking to become "black thunder tethered to sun" and "feathered lightning," you transform the speaker's pain from a quiet, human struggle into a vivid, cosmic force. It speaks beautifully to that primal desire to shed our human limitations and exist simply as the storm, free from the confines of naming and judgment. Your concluding couplet offers such a profound, lingering resolution. The idea that silence steps in where "mortal language bleeds" is a hauntingly beautiful way to describe the limits of human expression. Thank you for sharing such a powerful piece; it is a stunning reminder that true mercy requires no alphabet to understand our suffering.

MOHIT MITRA

August 19, 2026 at 10:53 AM

🌹Dear Alison, I am deeply humbled by your reading. You have done something exceedingly rare: you have entered the poem not merely through its imagery, but through the tension beneath its language—the strange exhaustion of having to make suffering intelligible before it can be received. Your observation about “the sovereign grammar of the speaking wound” especially moved me, because you have understood why that phrase needed to remain almost juridical: the wound is compelled to *speak, answer, prove*. Your reading of the thunder, flame, and lightning likewise sees their deeper purpose—not ornament, but an attempted escape from the jurisdiction of naming. And your final observation has stayed with me: that mercy may understand what language cannot testify to. Thank you, Alison, for reading so attentively and so generously. When a poem is received with such depth, the poet can only bow—and be grateful that the words found the reader they were quietly seeking. In abiding Light...

Sotto Poet

August 19, 2026 at 2:21 AM

Dear Mohit, another wonderful poem from your fantastic pen. It has strong imagery and emotional depth that resonates well. The poem explores themes of grief, language, and mercy. It expresses the desire to transcend human limitations, seeking freedom in a world beyond spoken words. The vivid imagery of thunder, flame, and lightning enhances the emotional weight, while the yearning for silence and mercy conveys a deep longing for peace and understanding. Just a beauty

MOHIT MITRA

August 19, 2026 at 6:15 AM

Esteemed Sir Poet, Your gracious reading leaves me almost speechless, Sir. To have you receive the poem not merely through its imagery but through its deeper quarrel between grief, language, and mercy is a kindness I scarcely know how to answer. Your words make my poor verses feel far more understood than they perhaps deserve. I am especially humbled by your seeing the thunder, flame, and lightning not merely as images, but as the poem’s attempt to escape the human limits of speech itself. That is precisely the territory where I hoped the poem might breathe. Thank you, Sir, for reading with such generosity and such involved attention. When a poet of your stature reads so closely, one feels less like the author of a poem than its fortunate witness. With deepest gratitude and respect, 💕🙏🌹 Mohit Mitra

Mercy Misreads

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