A soul was murdered in the middle of a night
The dark robed words were mightier this time
There were no harsh screams,no tinge on blood
The silent night was the only witness ,around.
There were no glistening arms,no long trials
It just buried itself deep within the trunk.
There was no word of an afterlife,nor of heaven
It promised itself not to raise the head again.
It came down from the world of clouds above
For the clouds were not intended for the hapless.
It abandoned the narrow allies of broken love
And a weeping soul on the other side of the world.
Silently it watched the thrashes on the body
Lying beside a stinking heap of dreams.
Destiny Poets
Uniting and celebrating the best "Writers" and "Poetry" from around the world centred out of Destiny Church Wakefield
“A murder”,by its very title adroitly misdirects the unwary reader’s expectations. The poetic narrative delivers a discursive,allegorical dissection on the topic of disappointment and disillusion.
Heart-rendering , heart-wrenching this poem could not have been without a real story- so I reckon.
Thank you Louis.
Thank you Lokesh ji,for your encouraging comments.Yes,there is definitely something real about it.
As the civilisation marched on,it was at the cost of murdered tradition. . .we killed the self,we slaughtered the values,we murdered God . .we are murderers. . .and such a murder can’t be undone. .the corpse can’t raise its head again. . .we killed the soul. . .we are materials. .we are rationalists. .we are pragmatists. . . The concept of some transcendal truth is now totally extinguished!