“Her Glacier”
Laying down on the shattered glass
I breathe in the shards
Letting the seeping blood drip
DRIP...DROP…
The ripples resonate and echo,
On the disheartened, crying ice
Eyes… dropping… crystals
Covered my saddened heart
Who, I scream a silent, dry scream,
as if I am in space, underwater
To my weeping eyes, “I am sorry for the wasted tears.”
I whisper to the silence, with my vivid vision
The vivid vision blurred by the saltwater tears
Can only see the back of the person I loved
FADE…into the mist of tears
The ice that weeps with me, from my ripped feet,
Shatters as I am taken to the abyss…
The very abyss of my own heart
I, slowly taken down, down…as I struggle against,
Against the deathly, cold water
As the rose thorns grasp my feet…they take me
To pitch-dark black,
Further…deeper…deeper
To the prison I made myself
Here at the ocean floor,
The place that is made out of my own tears
I wait…where the ashes remain
As I hope the pressure of the seven seas
Of my own heart, turns me into diamonds
The other part of me, who lives much above me
Where the snow punches your ragged skin,
In the heart of the land of fire and ice,
Awaits, in the concave of a glacier…
Aimlessly around the blue glass tsunami,
Breathing in the untainted, crisp cool air
Eyes floating aimlessly
Eyes twinkling endlessly
This slow walking giant, taking centuries for each step
Covers the land with its azure ice like a blanket
Treading on the works of any weathering
Glitters with streaks of endless blue…
O’ the beauty of the blue streaks!
Each a different shade,
Describes the indescribable
His exquisite beauty,
Walls as waves and ripples
Of water that has been frozen in time
Forms those very streaks!
Sapphire, Tiffany, Sky, Zaffre, Royal, Navy, Azure and Midnight blue
In bliss…all dancing merrily in this very cave
…an ultimate Eternal Dance
She, white light, origin of the viva Earth
Smiles through His crystal
Giving colour and light to His life
Givin’ His form…the Blue Crystal Tsunami.
Romance, like lovers, waltzing
even if one of them…will not make it ‘till the end
even if one of them…is slowly killing the other
She, who gives beauty to the giant
I, who lives way below them,
cannot compete…
A warm-blooded creature of the land…
It, who decides to wander inside…
runs Its hands on the mosaic of blue
To It, the ice seems to glide
As the twinkling light of the crystal cave winks…
Picturing the two together…
Below the glacier " inside the very cave- lays a beach
Crystal…His…Tears
O’ the beach of his tears…when he weeps with me
Slowly melting away
Either way,
His blue is much apart from mine,
Sleeplessly, I lay down on the shattered glass
Endlessly, breathing in the stabbing shards
As I accept my fate…way below Him
“Him.” “Blue Glass Tsunami” = Vatnajökull glacier cave, Iceland
“The Land of Fire and Ice” = Iceland. Iceland is known to have volcanoes next to glaciers.
“White light, Origin of the viva Earth” “She” = Sun
“Beach of his tears” = A ‘beach’ located in the cave itself. The sand is made out of ‘crystal’.
“A warm-blooded creature of the land” = A person. Human
“Pictures them together” = Takes a picture of the cave with a camera
“Even if one of them…is slowly killing the other” = The sun is melting the ice
“I” = A landform that sunk to the bottom of the sea, just below the cave. (i.e. ‘the third wheel’)
“…and here I wait. For her glacier. Who I knew will never come”
The light coming trough the window
showed all the dust that exploded from
the opening of that one book…
This cold light
lighting up
the warm dusty room.
Books and books and nothing but books.
Mice’s houses.
Rat’s castles.
Home of the fattest woodworms.
I cough with every step,
cause every step
is a step creating
clouds of dust.
Dust created from books.
Sandstorm.
Duststorm.
Bookstorm.
As I walk thought the kingdom of dead knowledge
towards the end of the world,
I’m looking for one book.
Even if in pieces.
Even a tiny part of it.
i need it.
A page, or a line.
A word would do.
My room is my desert,
my prison and my kingdom.
So I build my paper castles
and I burn my books to feel warm.
I drink the sunlight
and I look for the word, hopelessly,
like it would save my soul,
like it would grant my wishes.
……..
I don’t know how old is that wine.
I found it behind these books over there.
It tastes like shit,
but that’s allright.
I’m eating the leather covers some book have,
else i’m dying.
I lick my own sweat,
the rats are no more.
All their houses and castles and bedrooms are ruined.
You see, i’m still looking for that piece from that book.
Even the moths are gone.
Not that tasty,
but that’s alright.
Oh well, here we go again…
I’m a starving man,
a godless messiah,
soon I’ll feed myself
pieces of my flesh,
tiny organs no one needs.
It hurts a little now,
but that doesn’t matter.
I can devour anything,
I just need to keep my fingers,
so I can run them over my book,
when I find it,
I will find it,
gently caress the pages,
one by one, run my hands
over the hard covers, the soft insides.
When I find my book
it will all be worth it.
New rat in town.
The rat is no more.
Gave me strenght for one last search.
It seems i looked everywhere:
in all the secret rooms,
under the stairs,
behind the bookcase,
under that little door behind the sofa…or what’s left of it anyway.
The book is nowhere to be seen
so now i’m on the floor.
Breathing is almost impossible
cause of the dust i breathed through these months.
Seems like my last scar has opened up…
The ceiling is beautiful…
Andels fighting demons.
Demons loving angels.
And God is reading a book…
WHERE DID YOU HIDE IT?!
I KNOW IT’S HERE SOMEWHERE!
DAMN IT ALL…
There’s dust dripping from me.
Dust and words.
And light.
I’ll ask you in a bit… Father!
So what I’m a character?
So what my steps are counted?
I had the right to try and change that!
See you in the next book, God!
So content I am today,
This is the very day,
When my Bangla epic got published,
A feat of which I myself am astonished!
It was certainly,
The mercy of the Almighty,
And I could hardly anything ask,
After this Herculean task.
Indebted I am to some persons a lot,
For the utmost love, for the amazing support.
A phantom will bores into
the Vulmandr - spread thin and broad -
and speaks with a swollen tongue.
Words, so barely discernible,
withhold assault and comfort
with pristine images of home.
Fed by desertion - made cruel;
the Scar reeks of fierce Compulsion.
Over weary legs and feet,
under placid-yet-shifting sky;
Levesque continues seeking.
Whilst his brothers in warfare wage
in turbulent, scuttled droves,
he attunes himself in tandem
with this livid pulse and swell
that demands his full attention.
Implicit in him, dormant:
a small gateway through which a claw,
malformed and bent at the wrist,
gestures at his second vision.
He then wonders to himself:
What of my brothers and sisters?
Do they not feel their depths plunged
by this agent of turmoil?
Unbeknownst to young Levesque,
many Vulmandr had fled.
Absent in times of great need,
some remain and delight in their
fierce, yet trite retribution.
Others, engulfed by blind panic,
tore the very Earth to shreds
in their frenzy for an escape.
Rogue and rampant, yet so lost;
the Vulmandr were like fire;
constantly hungry and scared -
consuming in a pitch to live.
In their zigzagging pattern
of burnt, desiccated terrain,
they had spelled out some strange word
in some scribe none had claimed to know.
This great mark shone like a light
on an already-darkened land.
None too great a distance off,
Levesque, alarmed, would find new zeal.
There was yet time to rally.
Yield to they, the Vulmandr:
the fiery rain upon worlds.
Nestled be these war machines,
born as keen blades made marrow and
flesh, in their Maddening Scar.
Fed by wide-scattered surpluses,
their momentum built on strife;
the wagging lips on elected
oracles and emperors
made slick by the spoils of war.
These, the tortured Vulmandr:
men, or non-men, with might threaded
into every sinew
that binds each finger to their hearts,
remain a subject of awe
to we few that had held witness
to their duplicitous raze:
cast down from sky, burnt free of air;
they envelope, immolate
and suffocate those in their wake:
poor laymen roiled by faith,
yet sadly doomed from the start.
But from infancy they've stood;
from discovery they've ravaged
and been a decisive force
in all matters, civil or not,
until this: an alliance
formed by those left firm underfoot
and floundering under siege.
A coiled fist of allegiance,
made taut and unfeeling by
generations of oppression
and tributes taken in greed,
is driven through the country's throat.
The gibbering heads of state,
teeth chattered and drool run afoul
of the mouth, plead and grovel
at archaic shrines made holy
once more by necessity.
But when their white icons collapse,
so, too, do they leap and fall
behind marching lines and units,
placed as an infernal shield.
The mighty Vulmandr hold true
and exhale broadening sheets
of devastation; all in vain.
Once thought of as eternal -
their empire, a beacon placed
by time immemorial
among stars atop their bright peaks -
felled swift by those they once saw
as detritus bred for conquest.
In their burning capital,
the poorest Vulmandr lay slain
while their survivors tarry,
wounded deep and awash in blood,
as those held aloft by pact
quickly devolve into debate.
What of they, the dreaded, dear,
furious Vulmandr, now lost
and without kingdom to cull?
To which powers will they be dealt?
To what ends will they be launched?
What of populations who kneel
to this influence they've known?
What semblance will they have of home?
Weep for they, the Vulmandr:
downtrodden tools, now changing hands.
A family of fragments,
scattered, and forced to war with kin;
the hell they produce: a cry.