Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Thanatos cometh, she may

Thanatos cometh, she may
For the one in grief
By Azly Rahman


Like the glory of the early morn,
          as it leaves the serenity
          of the night of a thousand stars,
          of the universe bathed in the warmth of moonlight,
you will see the events folding as another new beginning.

There is the gift of the mystery that lies beneath.
          All the world’s a stage we are merely players
          and some play their part well
          some failed but forgiven,
                     next to be given a new script.

Like the fever that is engulfing you,
          yet another catharsis visits,
          leaving you like the one shrouded in a blanket
          awaiting for a revelation
          of yet another conclusion of a chapter in a book of life
                  written,
                  rewritten,
                  and as the hand writes,
                  nothing is erased
but becomes postscripts
of a grand narrative of the self.


Like the warmth of a distant Love engulfing you,
          as it cuddled the tenderness of the one innocent like a lamb,
          yet another wave of happiness awaits you,
          washing away the tears of yesteryears,
          giving you the strength to face the world that will be
                    kinder,
                    gentler,
as you conclude another chapter in your book of life
                   battling demons,
yet unscathed by the waves of advancing destruction.


You grieved for a son that has not the chance
          to taste the sweetness of a father’s love;
          you grieved for the self in you
that has not the chance to taste the blissfulness
          of a union made in heaven.

But grieve not
          till tears run dry,
          till there is no more walls of regret to tear down,
          till there is no memory of yesteryear to deconstruct,
 … move forth and live in the ever-changing present,
           cherishing every moment with love and forgiveness
… move forth slowly leaving the memories that still haunt,
            believing that all that ever existed was a stage
                 wherein you played a part in a plot that was never yours,
in subplots that called for thanatos
          upon thanatos to be played
          as if eros is the game …
          of hubris
           of hamartia


you flourished
you flourished
come what may
Thanatos cometh, you may

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