The Curse of Lovers

As the church bell tolls,

The pigeons flew away from the parapet.

The shiny old white threads left on the

Red aisle runner

Struggle to break up from its clutches.

The wind becomes the professional bench drummer of hallelujahs,

And the pages of the Bible search for a reader.

As I entered, the guilty cobwebs hide

Their faces behind the Chandelier,

reflecting its complex housing.

A curse has consumed this place,

The curse of lovers who were left at the altar.

The church stopped functioning,

someday,

Because the people stopped coming someday.

And the choir stopped singing,

The weddings stopped

And nobody was left at the altar.

They say it is the curse,

The curse of seven lovers who were left at the altar,

Over the seven years.

The lovers who left the town in shame

Never came back.

But people shared stories of cruel brides and cruel grooms,

Who left their lovers at the altar.

They sewed and stitched stories,

They made tea and poured stories,

They read and shared stories.

Stories traveled and consumed everyone,

They claimed to see apparitions,

ghosts, witches, bloodied bodies and

Gruesomely scattered hairs.

More and more left the town,

Fearing the curse,

Collecting their money,

Leaving their properties.

And here I stand in the cursed town,

My visit made no difference,

No soul came back,

Only the silence of the abandoned town accompanied me.

I stood at the lonely aisle,

smelling the dusty air,

Lamenting over the masterpieces.

And I wondered about the curses,

Not of the lovers,

But these buildings and structures

That was left alone in the town,

The curse that made them

Forever abandoned places,

Trapped in the body of a cursed town.

A. C

Comments

Shuli’s Love

Shuli washed her hair twice that day. One for her love to cleanse all impurities of reality and one for herself. She took a nap twice that day. One for love that took her melatonin, And another to forget. Shuli laughed twice that day. One on behalf of her tainted Love, And another on her botched brain cells. She cried a quarter that day. Half a quarter filled with anger, and the other half with shame. She danced twice that day, One for lost time on love, And another for her love for dance. Shuli wrote twice that day, One for her heart and Other for her brain. She gave two hugs that day, One for her wet pillow And another for herself. Shuli played hostess twice that day, One for her pain and the last for her sanity.

Little Poem

My procrastination ends here, While the urge to write chokes my throat, My hands get paralysed as in a trance, I find excuses to write a little poem, I make up a lonely man, a distressed woman, a lovers’ quarrel, an unrequited love, But they are reluctant to play the part, Maybe i should give them a raise, Or throw a party at midnight, Maybe a few drinks might work, Only if they don’t puke. I can expect a little vandalism, Some damage to the property and a mini scandal, Possibly out of rage. But at the end when I bring my weapons, Sometimes they get scared and back off, Some may never come back, Others find it funny and mock at me, And opportunists, seeing my desperation, Attacks me with manipulation. And all these while, my three panic attacks talk to me in a different language, I try to write a little poem With a racing heart and flowing eyes, I write my little poem, tortured and broken, I end my little poem, Like a mighty warrior, Who had a pyrrhic victory.

Madeline’s Mirror

Madeline’s mirror told her she’s fat, It appalled at her shapeless dress, Covering a chunk of flesh. She looked at her broad shoulders And big breasts, which reminded her of a pile of clothes that no longer fits her. But Madeline smiled and applied her eyeliner effortlessly. Her mirror sneered at her chafing thighs kissing each other when she moves. Madeline’s mirror found her plush lips contradicting the pair of flesh on either side of it. It spotted the two chins fighting for space like contestants in the combat zone. Madeline admired her freckleless skin, and applied her favourite lipstick. The mirror reflected her flabby arms complementing her saggy belly. Madeline moved closer to her mirror, which still in oblivion, started to produce sympathetic smiles at her legs. It mirrored how her legs carry all the weight, hiding under her flowy dress. Appreciating her silky hair and perfectly manicured...

THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

Search This Blog