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Prose Poem

  • The Bell Chimes

    sizzling rays
    of the solar disc
    strike the earth as burns;
    the bird of silence flies,
    while a gravedigger
    gashes its wings
    with the blade of his spade.
    the bell chimes:
    hands shiver
    but carry on digging!

    the grave has been dug
    and the mourners have
    gathered around it.
    the earth
    opens its mouth
    to gulp its morsel:
    the bell chimes:
    no one hears,
    save the gravedigger!

    with the brush of its
    dark, cracked lips,
    the … Continue reading

  • The Black

     
    in the pitch dark
    the wet boughs
    of the burnt palm—standing at the foot of a burnt hill—
    sing the song of silence…
    silence: full of ghostly echo piercing through
    ears, bones, flesh, and soul…
    with refrains
    ringing
    like a verdict of the court sentencing an innocent to death…
    grasshoppers subdued
    stones deaf
    trees numb
    landscape dumb…
    an ant slips off a stone for the hundredth time and
    a little … Continue reading

  • On Couch I Lay Rewinding The Movie

     
    on couch I lay rewinding the movie…
    the space followed by time followed the clock—
    ding-dong               ping-pong               sing-song
    several sounds             noise
    a hotchpotch                a yarn               a twister
    Brando wept wistfully                 Kate smiled
    Hopkins roared               Hanks strolled
    a tea cup was breeding a storm
    violent               uncontrollable               rare
    several threads were intertwined with each other
    the writer could not so I had not been able to stop … Continue reading

  • Time

    Time…gives us…everything…really?…everything?…yes, it does…a pair of eyes…senses (not the positivism of August Comte, but like it)…mind (sometimes like a weight, at times light like a bird)…soul (full of…)…nerves (full of…)…everything…breathes for us…the sun…stars…the Earth…happiness…pain…nostalgia…flowers…thorns…experiences…and in return…we give back…ourselves to Time…everything…with a touch of…our individuality…subjectivity…colour…feeling…selective perception…and be…a drop of…collective wisdom…

    © M. Syre

  • Windermere’s Wordsworth & Lake Zurich

    Lake Zurich—in German, Zurichsee—unfolded impressive scenery that, I had not expected, uncurled my mental knots, which the fatigue of 12 hours’ driving had created the last night that I had commenced from Dusseldorf (Germany) to Zurich (Switzerland). On the horizon, I could, out of sheer curiosity, struggle myself for long to find it was Alpine … Continue reading

  • The Last Meeting

    I met her for the last time to leave her city and homeland for good and all. A half-broken relationship (outwardly) breathed in our breasts. She had come along other friends to bid me good bye. She was hesitant. I too. A few moments of space and some space for a few moments earned, we … Continue reading