The Gospel Of Devil's Mercy

A Poem by Morana Ranarop

We’ve been chasing each other since birth
Across frozen clouds
Trying to explain to the people in our village
That we haven’t been cursed for centuries,
That the devil didn’t seduce us
By playing the gospel of mercy
The night we were born.

I poured a billion tears toward you,
They ascended and became stars,
They grew into beautiful girls
Who watch over your steps
While a handful of pills
Flies down your throat,
Sketching within your veins
The northern chill
And your black coat woven from night
That devours the dawns.

My silence is relentless.
It shreds itself across your countless footsteps,
Trying to lead me
Into the brothels where you fed time,
Into rooms where, for years,
You disappeared piece by piece
While dreaming of me.

I am tired.
My awareness of you devours me.
Sometimes it leaves my body,
Dissolves into alcohol
At the bottom of which I see your smile,
And I try to sink
Into the essence of your being�"
But my broken mind returns,
Ready to kill me once more,
Ready to impregnate and bury me
While the dawns vanish above my head.

We were never meant to meet in this lifetime,
Under which we are merely
Two forsaken desperates
Surrounded by an audience
While verses of dead memories grow inside us,
As I whisper to you on my deathbed:
“Whatever they say about you, I’ll be your eternal Harlequin
Hidden beneath your footsteps,
Settled in the puddles
Of an abandoned city
Full of waiting...”

Morana Ranarop