Evening is crossing
Stumble down to your knee,
the sun is passing through the shadowy crucifix.
A shrill cry of a kite in search of eternity
comes down.
The evening clouds
are molding themselves
like the doors to somewhere you wish you know of.
The sound of the assassin can be heard
at the last step of the stair, cold stone stair.
Your past, the dirt and ash, is flying in the air.
The reminiscences are the birds, now homing.
Isn’t this the time
when life is supposed to flash before one’s eyes?
The hand you can remember
had found you under an empty street lamp
and gave you food,
the demon that entered through it,
the demon that had written
the lines of destiny.
The pale moon is rising.
Rising like the pair of feet beneath, sure and chilly.
You have been the best in the trade.
The man who found you has said.
Now the young assassin is rising,
climbing to the number,
his feet can be heard on staircase
of this old church.
Suddenly you think you have listened
to someone calling.
© 2008 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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Comments: 42
Terrifying scenario!
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
Bravo.
Love and blessings,
Dr. Ni
"life flash before one's eyes" is cliche. I'd consider changing it, make it fresh.
Blessings and best wishes - S.
Thanks for posting in Journey Into Poetry !
I just wanted to stop by since I am finally going through what is now listed as under 4,000 pieces of gather new mail that is sitting in my inbox on here.
With that mentioned I just came across either a mailing from you yourself, or someone else brought this piece to my attention. You or they felt that your creation should be shared with the gather community, which I am very glad that it was passed on to me to view. So I wanted to say Thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to publish it here on gather for us to all view. :o)
As well before I leave you I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year... in 2009 :o)
Thank you.
I like these lines in particular for our Group . . .
Your past, the dirt and ash, is flying in the air.
The reminiscences are the birds, now homing.
Isn’t this the time
when life is supposed to flash before one’s eyes?
The hand you can remember
had found you under an empty street lamp
and gave you food,
the demon that entered through it,
the demon that had written
the lines of destiny.
EXCERPT
by Poddar
"The evening clouds are molding themselves
like the doors to somewhere you wish you know of."
Oh, I really like that!