A SPARK ESCAPED FROM HELL
My life is a nightmare that fate embellishes with scenes of horror.
I was born in the bowels of misery, my heart crushed by rage and terror.
I know the stench of battlefields, the taste of a child soldier’s tears,
I’ve seen all the demonic faces that the angel of death can wear.
My impure soul is a cemetery of eloquent pains,
In my mind tormented by human savagery, only indelible stains.
I have seen lonely mothers bury their fears beneath shrouds of silence,
Traumatized fathers fading upright, eyes nailed to absence.
I’ve walked straight upon the ruins of my own desolation,
Beneath a sky where scarred stars bleed without cessation.
My past haunts me, a pale specter with slitted eyes,
It whispers blasphemies backward, in thunderous cries.
My skin is armor, forged from mute scars,
My wounds are oaths that love shattered into shards.
I am a child of darkness, orphaned of light,
A stray tightrope walker, on a thread of dust in flight.
Yet in the furnaces of hell, however faint, a divine spark persists,
A fragment of rebellious life that sorrow cannot extinguish.
I take risks to erase this ocean of suffering,
I sail against the current on a sea of untrusting.
My dreams are leaking rafts tossed by indifference,
Yet I still row, guided by the instinct of resistance.
My nights are filled with screams no ear can catch,
Forgotten faces that my memory cannot detach.
I live among shadows, I speak to the gone,
I console my ghosts who weep within my blood alone.
My days are duels between the fall and the rise,
A silent pact between the abyss and a last try.
My color wears the mourning of futures cut down,
Yet in the blaze of my tears, something walks on unbound.
I am the gravel voice of a world betrayed,
The witness of a century in ruins, by forgetfulness decayed.
I no longer beg for peace — I forge it from my torment,
I carve my convictions in stone to defy my lament.
For even the damned can script their liberation,
Transform their pain into a proud declaration.
And if I must fall, let it be standing, unrepentant to the core,
With my traumas as epitaph, and my courage as accord.
Copyright ©
Auguste Romain Nyecki
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