By Apurva Sinha
How many more Deaths
I've to face?
How many more cursed breeze
I've to feel?
How many more lamenting nights
Without thou lively light
I've to co-opt?
My trembling hand,
The symphony of my Dionysus' affection.
Each flow of blood
Echos the curse of Zeus.
Evincing the numb ebb and flow --
I craved the love of Euridice
But destined Hephaestus’.
Like Midas praying to dispel Dionysus’ bliss,
These trials summoned to
Turn me into Prometheus.
I submerged myself in fiery lake,
Unafraid yet aware of thy burning blaze.
Weighed with sugarcoated sound,
Feed on self-wrought
Torn me apart in shards.
Ethereal dumb eyes can’t see thy lies ;
Prayed for thou essence, now remorsing for --
Weiling for an easeful death.
The crucible of our memory is a hearse,
Now portrayed in verse.