Shadows of the Valley
O' moment
of mist-glazed melancholia ~
I'm shrinking in paper-cut smokes
of shrivelling sunsets,
amidst the seizures of silence, there I surf ~
in swollen skulls of selfless swan-orchids,
that once splattered pigments of poisoned pearls
upon navy-neon shrine of the sun,
who traded my scars with an eloquent eclipse
and buried me in metallic merlots,
beneath mercuric lakes of myths.
Tonight,
hear me
as I sing in pencil-sketched debris
of pensive dandelions,
ferrying through the mine-fields
of monarchial mints ~
building catastrophic castles
upon bloodstones,
where corpses of intuition
remain clustered
in clueless imaginations.
Perhaps, my soul is the sigh
of graffiti graphites ~
stretched as soft sparks
across the ebony elegies
of this iron-inked agony,
chiseled by the spice
of snow-tailed stars,
and I've become
a silhouette of ageless sorrow,
stitched by the soliloquy of seawaves ~
who shaped me with sepias
as a dagger in my own shadow,
engrossed in the
illicit illumination
of an eagle-eyed iris.
With the hunter's instinct,
as the wolf-howl breaks my ribcage
and kisses that crying sky ~
drape me in lunar dew,
where vitriolic veins
entwine in the mosaic
of camphor cobwebs ~
and slay glittering goblins
with time-slashing swords.
For, I shall soon breathe
the rebellion of catharsis,
in the valley of death ~
when tears of heart,
trapped in whiskey-rose ruffles
of russet rays,
drizzle through
a disastrous dispersion,
emanating secret sirens
that swallowed spiritual sailors ~
once serenaded by those
seven shades of sin.
I wonder,
can you feel my shivers
as I dip my fingers
in the venom of volatile violets,
who never heard my cries ~
as I'm plucked like the last word of woe
from those stems of porcelain damsels ~
dripping diamond dreams
upon freckled garnet gravels?
do those blackcurrant crystals,
coiling the moon,
still grieve...
for feigning ignorance
to this foliage of flaming fears ~
ignited in the lamp of bones?
Or Is love but a lie,
engaged to the tomb
of emerald tyrannies —
like a mistress of harlequin melodies?
"maybe, In Litha's mirror
I shall slowly burn ~
draped in cyanide conspiracies
of crimson memories,
bleeding a diabolical dance of deja vu,
upon the grave of butterflies
who never fluttered...
and I'm the skeletal silk
of nocturnal buds,
veiled in black,
a bride of nefarious mantras ~
blooming in nightglow wisps,
as leaf-lacerated twilight
forevermore tapers me away..."
Copyright © Hiya Sharma | Year Posted 2025
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