When clenched in the fist of my heart’s chambers,
I would have sown the syllables of storm
between the molars of heaven and hell—
let the universe drown in unquiet verses!
Be the cyclone that scorns the horizon’s kneel,
O liturgy of my unbroken want,
descend as the monsoon’s first herald,
spilling the sky’s silver delirium.
Let the wilted petals remember their fire,
let the doves of peace become tempests,
their wings carving hymns from the wind’s throat.
May the rain’s fevered, salt-thick embrace
embroider laughter on the desert’s lips
with lightning’s stuttering scripture.
O architect of thunder, rupture the silence—
your tremor unspools my spine to a psalm.
I have drunk seven oceans to the dregs,
wrestled thirteen rivers into confession,
hunting the fossilized spine of truth.
O Unwritten God! O Keeper of the Unsaid!
Hammer me into a blade of pure howl—
to row through the cataract of lies,
or stand as the last unbent tree
in the hurricane’s cathedral.
Forge me into Columbus’s blind compass,
a sailor who navigates by God’s unmade breath.
-
Author:
Mottakeenur Rehman (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2025 04:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments3
Words of an oath in this poem. Full of vivid images it flows. Well done
Well written and expressed
well written. God bless you
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