In some corner of this small and lonely earth
Does a certain boy wake from slumber.
A slumber troubled by dreams of gore and blood:
Severed heads and bitten-off arms;
Of slit throats and tongues- red with gristle-
Dragged through the slit- crazed heathen beings
Forced to kill and eat each other at gunpoint.
And I dream of him. I dream of all the pain going through his head.
Being numbed by my own unending suffering- I gaze
Into the dark, yet frightened eyes of the boy.
Dark brown pupils- trembling with a hidden fear
The origins of which shall never know daylight.
These dreams keep plaguing our minds:
The nights, our sweet solace are repeatedly
Violently disturbed, by twisted reflections of trauma
That we face every day within our own minds;
Simple events distorted into fearful images
By our own waking selves- our dispositions having learnt
To feel more, to think deeper, and live much more
With the sufferings of others alongwith our own.
I often dream of the boy dreaming of burnt bodies;
Smoked charred flesh, pustules and boils
Bursting forth with serous fluid.
They cry out hoping for absolution; and all the while
Their skins grow deeper hues of yellow and green
As the harsh forces of life swarm flags of conquest
Over their ulcers, claiming them to be their own.
No ointment can alleviate their suffering.
We look through Azrael’s eyes ourselves-
How the world rests upon a mound of bodies:
A mass of squirming, writhing life.
Faces eating feet, bodies birthing from corpses,
Eyes spewing forth maggots and bones crumbling to dust.
The world moves upon such a syncytium
Such that the line between the living and dead
Is but a hazy spindle of dwindling reality.
Such is life! And such are our dreams.
Such are our thoughts which cross upon
A single coordinate in time and space.
I’ll see through his eyes, and he’ll see through mine-
The darkness of our pupils shall find comfort
In the company of each other’s deepest fears.
(credits: a few words of dream imagery blatantly taken from the dreams of a friend of mine)