Desperate Purple

I finished the day with yearning,

Wished the day stretched further,

The violent orange glow and

desperate purples of the sky screaming, reaching

for another breath as the night yawned awake

and smoored the fires of day.

I remember, my head against the pillow,

my hands reaching to clasp some far-off dream.

So content in sleep, so self-absorbed in wakefulness

So conscious somewhere in between.

I remember myself so vividly.

As vivid as the excuses I made for problems I should not have had,

As vivid as the pure emotion that drove my decisions from day to dark.

I loved my beauty, whatever of it I owned, I loved my mind, for it was vast and filled with

enchantment.

I loved the small blooms of wisdom that grew there, that I would pick and share with others.

And so I am unclear, uncertain as to why

this dark, thick fog has descended.

Settled neatly between my confidence and optimism,

Smothering with its full weight upon what defines me.

What I could have been.

Nesha Usmani

April 23, 2015

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Re: Swinburne, Algernon Charles

Note: I’m a big fan of Swinburne’s poetry. This poem is more of a commentary on something I’ve seen growing like a cancer in today’s society, which is outright criticism of events and people without proper knowledge, and the extremely shallow and biased assumptions made about people, places, things, without prior research or experience. The second stanza of “The Garden of Proserpine”, when taken out of context, Swinburne’s (or the narrator’s) expression of his views are similar to those I’ve seen in the media/society lately. So…that’s what’s been on my mind lately, and here ’tis. 🙂

Immerse yourself in your slumber,

You’ve grown tired of this place,

You ignore those that bleed and hunger

after what you have disgraced,

Your days and hours would better serve

the dying men whose lives

were all spent providing

for their children and their wives.

Have you grown sick of the weeping children,

the ones who lost their mothers?

Or the kidnapped children of Africa,

who are forced to kill their brothers?

You write too much of consequence,

yet little do you do,

If talking of hereafter,

What, do you think, waits for you?

You don’t like emotion,

it seems that much is plain,

But to cause such commotion,

You prove yourself only vain.

I have seen, however,

that often, what I desire

is quickly chased by fire,

and that which fills my sleeping head,

is often painful, out of bed.

And Power is demonic,

when possessed by Godless men

But if the world were purely logic,

I dare not wake again.

Poet, do not forget the balance,

It is there for you to see,

Where, in the world, there is darkness,

Light will also be.

Separate the brothers, Good and Evil,  no more

For hand in hand they walk as equals

Not as adversaries in folklore.

And by worldly depression do not be bested,

For the world is a tool God made to test (us) with,

I do not know your faith,

But do good by God and, it’s true,

that good, in turn, will come to you.

Nesha Usmani