The dawn also sets
as the rising pertains
to the flowing garden
of our strictest dissolution.
I painted you this evening.
You are my most recent victim
and I shudder to think of your energies.
I alight the doomsday clock
with phantasms of joy.
Your seeming-face is unrecognizable.
I turn to the nocturnes of the birds
and their hour is fine as sand.
An assault against the dignity of fire Like Oppenheimer as he crafts the atom bomb And we always knew your basement Was full of empty robes of wandering Night closes
Three poems by Megha Sood, two previously unpublished.
Suchismita Ghoshal writes of the passing of time and surpassing it.
For a moment,a singlebut beautiful one,the one-day fly hopes.And the butterfly,magical in itself,she doesn’t even knowshe is creating a fullbutterfly effect.The yellow-sun bee,she has been buildingall her lifeand barefoot treads
reflective poem about time, work and energy through interdependence
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“your seeming-face is unrecognizable”—I LOVE this line! It’s a unique way of stating that we are not our emotions while pointing out the impertinence of emotions. There is no permanent state of being. That is, if I’m reading what you intended to convey. If not, kudos still, because I quite like my possible misinterpretation. Lol. It’s got my mind achurnin’. Lol!
The poem is about a killer re-imagining his victim after the murder. That line is indeed about the concept of mask as you suggest.