i am wielder of chaos
bearer of cozy poison
hidden son of jupiter
gestated from his thigh
supple strapping boy
follow the crooked
steps of spontaneous
capering i will soothe
your terrified gaze
summon frantic defiant
nymphs to slake
your thumping skull
with tender anarchy
my fierce priestesses
in robes of moonlight
diaphanous cobweb
will sing lilting implacable
spells to wreck
planets in their courses
wine and feral milk spouting
from tap of hyssop branch
i will swaddle you
in mother night caress
you with snake tongue
drizzle silky
secret language
of the rapacious
in your ear nudge
succulent fissure
yearning for arc
of scalding bliss
lightning bone
sap of brief
delectable death
If there be love,
let us marry our heads
to jagged stone —
surgically carving the hearts
hidden within our depths.
Let us sow what could’ve been,
take chance with all our vanities
before passion turns to consequence.
Let us dig our graves this very moment,
arrange the canvas bloom,
hasten the stones along our waists
and submerge our young —
a mercy we were never shown.
Delicately placing our lips
on the wielder of memory,
casting the seedlings
to the depths.
Let us bathe in boiling wax,
hardening our skin —
so that when it comes
we are already gone.
But if love not be…
then why need we suffer,
if passion and fire
never graced us
their wound?
It's shadowed in darkness, growling like a hound
Creeping about, whispering as it slithers around
Begging for attention, for it desires to be found
Silence is loud when its echoes continually resound
Behold, it comes masked, disguised in these places
Preying on the gullible ones with innocent faces
Cajoling as a lover would to gain their good graces
Offering false humility with arms of frigid embraces
Silence cries out with a stench breath for adoration
Quietly seducing the naive with phrases of flirtation
Long ago, spawned to be the wielder of denigration
Contrived as a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
Writes with ink splotches, dripped from a toxic tongue
Its poetry is deceiving, lyrics not meant to be sung
In darkness, it leaks toxins with the scent of dung
Disguised as a pacifist, but its bile words are flung
Silence, speak what you should be wanting to say
then fade back into the shadows where you often play
Your acrimony doesn't fool the many you did betray
Sheath your querulous pen, for it leads people astray
“To love, or not to love?” that is the point,
the focus which peers lose beyond disjoint.
To be like gods among men, and unloved,
is woe: even wild beasts are not unmoved
by these fragmented, lone, unearthly souls,
for whom the scroll of history unrolls.
Men, being so much better than feral beasts,
should shun (and despise!) the vile, evil feasts
of their hate: then love these wide-browed seers, men
and women like the wielder of this pen.
In depth and breadth of shadows, it prowls around
always flowing, wafting on air, ne'er making a sound
It exists in dejection and rejection, and always found
in silence, too loud when its raucous echoes resound
No deafening roar of blaring thunder comes with fear
It's audible only in a mind, but muzzled to each ear
Manifested in visions, without guttural words to hear
The threat it poses in a reverie wears an implicit jeer
Solitude exhales a stale breath with eager anticipation
Quietly seducing our trust with mendacious flirtation
Spawned to be the covert wielder of our denigration
A stealth mute, besotted on doubt as a form of libation
"Take heed, people!" It screams at us without a tongue
In song the tune is hummed; the lyrics never to be sung
Anguish, leaking acid in which toxins are cleverly sprung
Disguised as a protagonist, paranoia's qualms are flung
It watches without eyes, trying to keep us in disarray
An ever lingering specter, hovering wherever we play
In reticent whispers, how deftly it schemes to betray
A taunting voice without curses, a message to convey
I can accept many things cordially
Old, new, history, science, philosophy
And at the same time, I can't accept many
Beliefs, disbelief, truths, false hypocrisy
I'm human by flesh and blood
I'm wielder of my own thought,
A conductor of a good and bad sort
Independence is my manners fort
I'm not a robot, dogma is not a fixed staple in me
So no feud is applicable in bringing peace globally
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
10/05/2023
He persuades me into oblivion
He feeds me sadistic scenarios that wears down my memories with rust to dust
He makes me dance while I feed him my insecurities
My overwhelming insecurities
I give in
He warms me and warns me from what did not happen but very well could
Bath me in acid and burn me to to bone
He does not sleep nor shall I
He excites me and steals my breath
Seduces me into the deep illogical insanity of oblivion
Deep into oblivion
He persuades me
Confirming my dread
How easily you could save me
You wielder of sleep
I digress further and plot my revenge
He smiles
Nods and continues
He is my guide to oblivion my mentor for lunacy
Deep into oblivion
I wear a black cloak with hourglass in hand
Waiting for the last grain of sand to land
And once it does I will collect the soul
To lead it near the Chief of Heaven's goal.
I'm the last to see your human body
Before death arrives in your life's lobby;
I hold you as you take your final breath
Like long ago the two of us had met.
I'll walk with you so you won't be alone
You suffered more than enough on your own.
I'll guide you to a place you will be loved
Where time is eternal with God above.
When it's your time to die I'm the keeper-
I'll come for you my name is Grim Reaper.
A wayward heart in the wild,
Trying to wield the knife of hope.
Hope for one thing; hope for one friend
The only way to guard her heart
The only way when others have failed
With each fail, adds a slice to her heart
Some are shallow; some are deep
But all are painful, on her soul
For a moment, things were right, things were won
But the tables turned as,
The wielded became the wielder
The cuts on her soul became cuts on her flesh
Some are deep; some are shallow
At first, the knife only tasted some tiny beads of blood
But as time grew, the knife soon feasted
As white flesh turns red
Crimson drops run down the blade
Hope shatters into shards
Those shards embed into flesh
Joining the sliver with the white and red
A friend gained is a friend soon lost
The hunter becomes the hunted
Knowing the knowledge of man is like testing the wielder man,
growing and gripping from grass that causes a liquor of liquid.
••••
To those who love plant,
will tell the benefit of the incubant everywhere in the farm,
having a rotating mind to wind up a standing fan.
••••
The sick will pick the dreak,
living the falling leaves to in astray in a mouldy train.
Having a believe in the shabby shrine.
••••
Creating the hole for the whole,
commanding the seal to steal,
jumping from horse to host.
Making a sign like a hobby human.
Agony is nigh ever-present in humanity.
It is the nefarious antagonist that unabashedly lurks in the shadows;
And With detestable malice, it strikes with a hellish wrath.
This abhorrent lash is the unintentional crafter of heroism.
It inadvertently forges a shield that encompasses willpower;
And from it, absolute fortitude inhabits its beholder.
To wield this hallowed bulwark, an adamantine resolve is vital.
For the wielder is bequeathed with the insignia of gallantry;
And with this newly reaped brand, one must also retain humility.
Inevitably, the herculean task of attaining leadership takes its toll.
It Will, unfortunately, weigh on the heart of its heritor incessantly;
Despite this, its proprietor must remain vigilant and compassionate.
O Sweet poem
Wielder of undisclosed tales
Conqueror of unyielding hearts
Comforter of inoperable minds
Consoler of inconsolable souls
Utterer of the most unutterable dictions,
You have kept secrets for poets
In the deepest corners of your heart
I implore you,
Keep a secret for me!
With your soporific charm
You have softened hearts of gallant men.
You have won beautiful maidens for Kings.
You have spoken for the mutest lovers
You have reconciled the irreconcilable
O Sweet poem
Keep one more secret for me.
With your powerful allure
You have heated the coldest of hearts
You have reached unattainable horizons
You have opened the tightest doors
No secret is too sacred for you to keep
I pray keep a secret for me.
If you were to be beheaded in days gone by
The axe wielder, one hoped, was an experienced guy
Make it good, really good news
Close is good only in horseshoes
Blood loss would be draining and eventually you die
STRANGE!!!
Perspiring smith
stares with pride
at his newly wrought
iron bride
the device of death
his means for bread
Hung on the wall
in its scabbard
lined with gold
glittering hazard
beauty its name
fear its fame
Drawing blood
cutting veins
sharp and brutal
red with stains
wielder cheering
end nearing
Rotten red juice
dust and decay
sweating grips
death and dismay
end of a battle
her sisters rattle
Journey to home
long and dry
the iron bride
won't see the sky
a long night
till another fight
shadowed in darkness, sniffing as a hound
creeping about without releasing a sound
begging to be noticed, wanting to be found
silence is too loud when its echoes resound
behold, it comes creeping to known places
among those of us who wear innocent faces
cajoling in soft whispers to gain good graces
offering false humility and fridgid embraces
silence cries with stale breath for adoration
quietly seducing with phrases of flirtation
spawned to be the wielder of denigration
a stealth mute, soused on pride's libation
ink splotches fingered from hushed tongue
will never be songs aptly written to be sung
in silence it leaks acid and toxins are sprung
disguised as a friend but what lies it's flung
SPEAK the truth you have neglected to say
then return to shadows where you oft play
your silence has not fooled those you betray
sheath your vile dagger then be on your way
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