The Memoirs Of The Traveller

By Amrusha Acharya

The traveller finds himself unsatiated,

Baited breaths and fog cold,

He lays upon the ground, 

Watching the sky with gaze unabated.

The stream flows like silk around him,

The mist like evanescent gossamer, 

Hands dipping into the cool liquid on a whim,

He brings the nectar to his lips, enamoured.

He drinks the stars and feasts-

On midnight blues, and sunset pinks,

The stream urges him closer,

Its quiet ripples promising him rapture,

A treat too sweet, he thinks.

His fingers draw back, resting on his notebook,

He reads to the stream, a story of infinite solitude, 

The stream twinkles in response as the stars begin to move,

The moon finds her nest, the sun begins to rouse. 

Beyond the stream lies a field of lilies, 

The traveller watches and watches and, 

Lifting up his pen, sketches the sun 

Shining down on those little fools.

When midnight knocks,

He laughs in reply, tone softer and gaze kinder,

He'll drink the stars and feast again,

And the stream will whisper once more,

"The lilies are pretty, why don't you draw some more?”

***

LABURNUM'S LAUDANUM

Ruddy did seem the clouds at night,

Off and pale they grew,

Exhaling tendrils of flashing lights

Like a withering laburnum

Too bright and shrew. 

Hunger made my bones rust,

In the whispers of the moon I must 

Learn to see the light of day,

For morn discards me as the child 

Of nocturne's play.

Screams the harp for reprieve,

Winding down labyrinthine halls,

Uniting those that breathe and decease, 

In the pursuit of madness 

Hopes he in misguided malady. 

Light knocks against the curtains,

Luadanum loaded, the ache sleeps,

Senses blurring into palpitations 

Of the vexable device within my ribs,

Mumbling melancholic machinations.

The clouds shroud me, oft close

But never enough to touch, 

Laudanum licks my lips, lemon flavoured

Cry as I might in sweet repose,

The laburnum will no longer bleed

Its scent into my veins, 

The lemon flavoured flowers will flee,

Dance in little glee, turning into perfume 

That will shroud the room,

And make me ache for more.

***

LET ME KNEEL

Never did drowning feel so sublime,

Each breath a tide in the passing of time

The rhythm of you heart only mine to bear,

What have I done to lay myself all bare?

Drown will these shells that I drop,

In you, with the weight of thoughts 

That my mortality finds too hard to hold,

Each shell, a crack in my broken facade.

The stars move like flickering flames,

Dancing on the ripples, spelling out our names-

As the last breath escapes my lungs, 

Bubbles, brooding over my vessel-

That is dragged deeper, deeper and deeper.

The waters will never still,

So will my rhapsodic ramblings ripple, 

Every ebb your name, every tide your game,

I'll proudly be your moth to the flame.

Tear my heart out if you will,

Soiling the waters that hold me tight,

Binds us this blood, like dripping ichor

Down the throats of Gods and Kings,

Will I too, bleed in this fight? 

You tear me, you take my breath away,

Yet all I can do,

Is ask for more.

Bind me, to you, make me bleed. 

Let the towers toll, advice I shall not heed, 

If for you I must escape the tides, I will,

Let me, for you-

All my life, let me kneel.

***

MY WRETCHED REAPER

The lake gleams, petals meandering on,

The sky rumbles, clouds drifting by,

Gentle the wind loses its charm,

The rain muddles all, 

All but another of the Reaper's forlorn sham. 

The Scythe swings like a pendulum,

Hanging by the neck of an ornate deer,

Eyes of sorrow, spots of pity and blood muddled,

Pry the pounding pulp of pained passion open, pick it apart-

Pick, pick, pick- 

Each strike a sorry sundry to my senses.

You love the deer for the hunt,  

Skin its hide- blood seeping through your fingers, can you feel it? 

Will the warmth be enough to feed you?

Your voracious heart, your insatiable soul, 

Redder than the miserable sunset.

The lake ripples, petals meandering on, 

The skies that cover the earth, 

Shall rain tears of sorrow not rage,

At the little deer, breathing its last 

In sheer outrage.

Yet, it cannot run amok.

The Reaper's scythe will always find it, 

Skin it once more and wear the hide-

Like a king's crown that is all too dear,

Yet, far heavier than the weight the shoulders can bear.

O, wretched Reaper of all,

Find me again, I plead you.

Take my skin, gouge my eyes

Out for the world to see, 

Only when I'm haunting you

Can I truly be free.

The lake will run dry, so will the blood 

In my harping heart.

Take it all, O, wretched Reaper.

I will reap what I have sown,

And I will not weather in the unknown,

O, my wretched Reaper.

***

MELPOMENE'S MADNESS

Find me in dreams 

Where Ghosts and Gods play,

The ransom of rugged fates night and day,

Each holding a dice too devious,

Golden and red light gleaming vicious.

Fate rouses your sleep, douses burning fires,

You stare in horrified awe at the game of errors, 

The pawns of destitute destiny tossing

Ichor down pyres 

Of flaming tunes, sung by maddened malice. 

Verona lies, and Icarus flies-

Ah, the golden chalice hath fallen,

Into the hands of Nocturn,

Who strangles your neck, crestfallen. 

Ah, the Holy Grail has spilled,

Red glitters down your lips.

Fate, O, cursed Fate, wake thy from your

Voracious slumber, 

Slay the Ghosts and Gods that force your hand, 

Whisk their breaths, make them number,

Spill the holy grail, oh, mad malice-

The golden chalice will not save you.

Angered Gods sleep on bones, 

Vindicated have been the Ghosts 

That you have driven away, 

Away from your dreams, throwing sticks and stones,

O, Nihilistic Nocturn, go-

Go down your tomb, and sleep.

You shall never find me, 

Neither in dreams nor in transience,

Find me when the Golden chalice breaks

When the Holy Grail curses fate, 

Find me in the broken corners

Of the dice that you hold,

Toss me into your Ichor-

Let me burn, into embers that feed you.

Let me burn into ashes that raise you,

O, my devious druid, leave me be.

Without you, I shall not breathe.

***

By Amrusha Acharya