Mirrors and Echoes

Post-Mortem Victory

I saw peril at first

once my honey-tongued lover spilt,

            “How lucky it is to walk

alongside six aristocrats

carry the banner of death for the throne.”

Later seven heroes are chosen

by the king, who forgot

his heirs are cursed by the gods,

            “Of a lion fights

against a boar,”

as it is sculpted in the mind

of an acquaintance.

At first, it was the wrong sibling

who should ride the golden chariot.

The other sibling is exiled,

            “I went to a city,

then picked a fight against

a prince,” bound by a promise

of might and triumph.

A dominion is being reminded,

            “Show us where

the spring was,” the maid

leaves her baby, suddenly dead

of venom. The snake’s head

decapitated, hence it is named—

The disaster unfolds.

One by one from the seven of us,

is dying swallowed by sins and dirt.

            “Not even The King of The Gods

can stop me,” although

he is falling to his death, losing blood

dying by poison, and other deaths.

We let our children

bet with their own tragedies

while our daughters,

            “How difficult it was

burying our own brothers,” and our efforts are won by our grandchildren.

Paralegal

Mortal ways to testify are peculiar:

Innocence until proven guilty

on pale skins settling

on four-seasoned land.

Gavel knockers are the keyholders

of torture chambers and elders

among gods and man.

Only this king was allowed to build the walls!

Cold is not crippling enough

on the tip of the delicate scale of deeds.

The king is locked by grids

of five-sided stories.

From him the bubbling sea,

beside hulls and anchors,

living with lances and sails

dead by the boiling ocean.

Casted out at first due to the balance

how equal, law becomes

enforced and enlightened.

Befriending the desert inhabitants

along with yellow-skinned heroes.

Truly, it was a page at first

of commerce and justice business the metrics are just deliberately stiff.

Tripped

The lattices are shaking

by the tunes of her own bad karma

born out of her failure

to stop the kidnapping

            Songs and dances

            swerve and show

            sad stories born

            out of her womb of history

Later the damned sailors

kiss their children

and end up at the depth of burrows.

Mirrors and Echoes

Teach me how to ignore voices

in my head and attempts

to satisfy my curiosity;

            I follow blindly

            because the cord uprooted

            till it won’t sing.

And you, lay on the pool’s surface

to look at yourself and die,

mentioned in the lost poems;

            our grave is visited

            by twined couples

            of their stars. The hums of lyre

strung and releasing arrows

of golden, and the chirps of turtle

swoop, repeatedly.

Repeatedly