Poem: Kismet

Well-defined lines mark your face

the etchings of a master hand,

the sheer symbols of hanging anguish,

the hempen ropes of fate,

the scars of mortal combat,

ambidextrous designs of duplicity,

reflecting mirrors of the torn and bleeding soul,

bathed in the crimson of life's slow spluttering,

the guttering of a dying fire,

the shattering of the cerebral chandelier,

the deep-pitted ravine of accumulated hates,

the bloated wine-skins of anger,

of pent-up emotions

tarnishing the spirit,

the horrid rattling of skeletal hopes,

the burning of the weal,

the branding of the self.

 

Yet, inspite of all,

you wear your stigmas well,

in defiance of your deep damnation.

 

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from A Sad Piper, 1994