By Th Anisthar
When the misty air cracks and dawn breaks out,
All seems greener as the sun pulls up
The fog that curtained a small village now
Houses concrete buildings in place of mud huts;
Roofs now tin in place of thatch.
During the day,
This town, a bustling marketplace,
That the serene view of crisp leaves wet with dew
And the silence past Twilight brings
A respite to the incessant ache for a defunct time
That is now reckoned with just a tinge of nostalgia at its mention.
Enthralled by the sight of houses and hills
All slightly shrouded by the shadow of the nostalgic apparel of the past,
Reality is obfuscated even though
The sunrise now peeped from behind the hills.
I entered the church and sat in one of the empty seats which usually are filled on Sunday mornings.
My hands clasped together, I waited for you.
The echoes of the birds chirping had me disrupted,
My own breath a distraction, my call to you now
Interrupted by bursts of anecdotes that refuse to leave
And here I yet again fail to quell the shrills of my heart
Into soft whispers.
I had found you in the quiet, in lonely showers,
In the bustling city foyer had I found you;
But here, in the holiest of places
Have I failed to reach you oftentimes.
The pulpit bare, the choir absent,
Just you and I here,
Yet my thoughts maundered over the walls of the church
Scribbled with the multitude's appetency for beacons galore.
I mused as the red drapes hung on the wall
As though the climax was yet to unfold
Most of the acts already performed and I, like the rest,
Brought to the edge of my seat, glued
To the cathedral episodes of black and white characters,
Candid plot of habitual duplicity and piousness.
Brought forward my being to the stage,
Effectuates teary eyes to the symphony of rage,
Her head crowned with a single peridot
She knelt and the jewel fell off her head.
Bleeding beneath with heresy and rage,
She stood with a smile so benevolent
No ounce of deceit adorned her face.
An enigma she wandered in the blank gaps
Of the audience that applauded her act.
She traced the footwork of previous performers
She poised for the spin that dusted her name
Into fine powder that blew with the winds of change
Over the hills that had graced this child
And the many before her.
I walked out as the day began
The sun now flaunting the concrete road,
The air now heavier as I made my way back home.
What of the words that had failed to leave my lips
Been whispers that ought only for you to hear-
My entire being hums a song slightly out of tune
Versed with perpetual waves of bitter agony and rue
With aching notes of a lost child's cant-
My steps faltered as I implored for mercy
A hymn of love and devotion far out of touch
Condemns my moral fickleness
Holds my heart culpable for the erratic indiscretion
I sang to you at dawn.