A Poem's Art
by Awsaaf Ali
Our forbidden desires trickle,
From our broken words,
Desultory letters slowly shiver,
As thoughts porous from the pores,
These thoughts in our mother's ears quiver...
For wishes begin to fulfill by an effort,
We separated filthy mire from the dirt,
Stole the warmth of a lonely dune,
Embezzled an uncomposed tune,
Under the dim light of the weeping moon,
We stole thoughts from the cracked tomb...
''Artists seldom create their artistic art for the applauds from relay, ''
Whence a mere creation's creation's always subjected to a devil's play;
Stealing the flesh of the fuming corpses,
To lie witnesses of such artistic view, the Gods halt their blind horses,
We attached her decapitated head to her detached neck,
Hallowed than holy, of the creation we were witnessed to create...
We covered her jaws with wrinkled lips,
And spat a tongue which we stole from the abyss,
To her encumbrant body, we relocated limbs and hands,
And in our imagination imagined our art to dance...
''Forbidden, shalt thou art lie, ''
For no history witnesses these arts to comply,
Deafened by desires, we stole light of the sky,
Holding the rusted ferrule, we painted the last lash of her eye,
Gods of the Underworld stare bewildered from the crest,
As for the final touch, we kiss and reshape her breast...
Irrevocably with disfigured lips we blew life in her ceaselessly,
Amidst which imagining to anticipate to dance merrily,
Lo! And then she rose, smelt she, like a wild black rose,
We danced and chirped on the ashes of triumph,
As wordlessly she anticipated to galumph,
The demons laughed as she stamped our heads,
Corpses rose and giggled on their deathbeds,
She mercilessly stamps our mother's disfigured nose,
As our desire, art and the fading moment forever froze.