The Reckless PerchA Poem by Sami KhalilGiant delusions, shattered illusions.The Reckless Perch
by Sami Khalil (Giant delusions, shattered illusions) Unknowingly, I wrapped my feelings in isolation, in
anticipation, in surreal trepidation. Through the eye of the needle, through riotous
upheaval, I stitched my wayward thoughts, my nimble spectrums, my oversized
storms. My bed felt sandy, nonchalantly sinking in confined spaces, puzzling
daily the sun’s reflective glow. I waved frantically at the parade, as seen
clearly, standing idly below my vantage point, my reckless perch, waiting for
marching orders. Streets were hushed, breathing fleeting moments. Faces
had yet to settle into the marching mode, lulling their false sense of
security. I ordered: “March on, march!”, to no avail. My throat
felt dry, myself disquieted. Don’t they know that I’m in charge here? Can’t
they fathom who holds the power? Flailing my staff in the air, I came down with
a vengeance, thrashing the populace across their heads with pinprick accuracy,
smashing them like false idols. I set off a ticking bomb of rage, a minefield of acrid
burnings; prodigious happenings under the soles of their feet. After finishing
the strikes, the scene looked like a sad tableau that belie all norms. I called
upon the vultures to feast upon this licentious, quixotic undertaking. My long shadow stretched before the world smiling with
mischievous grins. I’m the giant, the ruler, half-consumed with power, half by
false heaps of self, compensating for lesser things. None can deter me now but begrudge what great tragedy
had befallen. “Behave or face the grave. Pay tribute or become mute.
Either obey willingly or heftily pay.” As I woke up, the room was suffused with pearlescent,
robbed memories. I felt under deep, pellucid waters, lost to myself. I was the
catch of the day. A big fish in a small
pond. No savage regrets, no gentle raging, no primal peace but the dread of the
inevitable. {Still I foresee, how things can be, how moments flee.
How the bearer of the sun can come undone. How those whose hands are drenched in blood, will face
the flood, the rage, the mud. Still I foresee, that everything must have a collision
course. Nevertheless, deal neither by evil ways nor by cold
hearts for trembled lips need reform, shaping their ravaging storm.} © 2020 Sami KhalilReviews
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Added on May 10, 2020Last Updated on May 10, 2020 Author
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