There are days when
You wake up to
Requiem in D minor,
And then fall asleep
To the wet wails
Of Darbari Kanada.
Days that start with
Internal Screams,
Munching on a heart
Static, frozen…
As if
The yellow corridors of hell,
Where Dante would not
Dare to venture alone,
And, trying to whisper,
And, murmur,
To the beat of a fractal sadness,
A twisted version
Of my secret name…
Image credit: Feature image generated with DALL·E using a prompt based on this poem and its themes.
If this piece resonates with you and you’re a visual artist, I’d love to feature your own soul-crafted work in place of the AI image.
