Dear No one

I have no Piper’s charm, flute, or grace, but still, they trail
A mind unsettled by disturbed trysts and ménages à trios:
Poetic anti-climax – boats on withered grass, with no sail

I’m done with mourning, weeping; my song has lost its wail
Those tears like maggots have stopped their non-stop dig, skin (bone) eat, gnaw
There’s nothing to advance, so little to take, but still, they trail

I’m lost in metamorphosis; I’m breaking this jail
That’s binding me, not giving some cathartic bliss – sweet, slow awe
I’ve left my boat on sordid shores – dead matted grass, with no sail

I’m reaching for hope – light unseen; graze, touch; now, don’t pale
And reach back. Hell, find me without my forlorn, broken lines; claw
Because I’m lost in transformation, needing you, and they trail

I’m never walking – my feet scraping this bent, brown rail
– again, so fucking jaded, shooting my drink, little too raw
So piece together my sawed-off boat, stitch that colorless sail
I have no Piper’s charm, flute, but my mistakes, they trail, they trail…

Prompt: Forlorn

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

14 Comments

      1. I don’t know what that thank you means, because I honestly don’t know who to trust, and this villanelle is inspired by something I read today in two books. But I can’t help it if people interject themselves into my lines. The earth revolves around the sun and we are but dust and ashes. I wouldn’t want it revolving around me! I hope you get the allusion.

      2. And this is my last warning to the other side who I know you’re quite well acquainted with. I’ll will bury them, exposing their sickest, darkest lies if the mind games continue. It’s not like I don’t have the entire conversations where they have judged people too. Yes, I have also made my mistakes in my judgement of folks but I’ll attack each one of them with a poetic scythe, and they’re all poor poets or imitators, or quasi-inspirational speakers to me. And I will not rest until an absolute poetic burial that throws a spear into their muse is done. I’ve kept quite for long, but I would advise you to ask them to shut the fuck up, learn some maturity and move the fuck on with their lives. And I will not spare anyone who supports them using my poetry. They can’t do half the things I can despite their education, and so here’s my final warning.

  1. You are again assuming too much man! We hardly know each other, and I still haven’t asked questions from my side (just so that you know). I now understand whom you are referring to. Let’s sort this over email.

    1. I added a contact form. If you can find it, mail me. The problem is that I can’t find it myself lol! I might change my theme, so that people can find it. Otherwise, do I mail you on your id associated with this comment?

      1. Actually I thought about it, and you know what, fuck it. If those people want to roll in the mud and giggle while they’re at it, thinking my lines are for them, I’m not going to care. If they try getting personal, I’ll see what to do. They want me to blunder and obviously somebody here, and I’m not sure who, but I’m not counting anybody out is tipping them off. So, I’ll separate my art from me and just freaking write, because knowing them if there is one thing they can’t tolerate, it’s indifference. It will make them hallucinate, and that’s exactly what I’ll give them.

    1. Thanks Holly. That really means a lot. I started a contact form by the way. Get in touch if you want to. I could do with an old friend’s advise, but it’s your choice.

      1. Please do. I might be taking a break or quitting. Now that other people from other countries have been contacted, the mind games increase and my own neurosis is destroying me. I lashed out against a few bloggers here, because I was angry, but the other side did the same or worse, and I have the messages stored. But I guess it’s easy to copy and paste messages and use it against me in a cunning and cruel way.

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