By Anshuman Das
As Carthage burns and Haemon holds Antigone in a faint
embrace of death, we find ourselves in one of those nights.
Those nights that mark the mood of the city,
there’s no moon, there was no sun.
As humans die in fits of vanity, the golden rain colours
your sins yellow. You hold your tongue, you hold
yourself, about to flinch, against the drunk delight of abuse.
You’ve grown quite brave, have you?
But remember, Carthage burned and Antigone hanged,
the road is laid out for you.
Nothing is true, the golden rains colour your sins yellow.
The day has come, the yellow mist leaves
the city shrouded in sold souls.
You speak, harbingers of evil, you have died
and your corpse bleeds ink, makes people kill.
As the yellow mist trespasses into your room,
as the coffee cup steams, only temporarily,
it hardly understands what it helps thrive,
But make dead freely, Carthage will always burn, Haemon will always hold the
faint embrace of death, you will always flinch.
As you are coloured blue, you paint the world, a
canvas for your blood and your ink, one and the same.
As the city is taken over by sold souls,
they are taken over by you.
By Anshuman Das
Again, something of the texture of the preludes...
great . You could reflect death in your poems
Poet seems to have good insights about death as lot of his poems seem to be mention this..