Poetry Text: Midnight Ravings

In the futile ravings of a madwoman
Her pain echoes through,
In her torments she succumbs,
In her wounds she grapples with reality.
In lunacy echoes the cold hearted’s laugh,
In regret waits pain.
What once had wings
But lost them along the way?
What once tasted the pinch of the winter breeze,
But does no more?

Once she graced and flaunted,
She the queen,
She the lover of men,
She who seduced.
She who fluttered like the butterfly,
The dragon fly.
In the flutter of her heart
Melodies began
And ended.
Her beauty needed no pronunciation
But now she in tar and soot,
Deep she is in mud and grime.

In lunacy echoes the cold hearted’s laugh,
In regret waits pain.

She converses with Gudo and Garwe.
They who whisper in her ears-
‘Where is your lover dear friend?’
‘In a ditch,’ say she.
Her screams echo
As she flees from gondo,
Gondo the crow,
Gondo her tormenter,
Gondo the jester,
Gondo the purveyor of falsehood,
Gondo the soothsayer
Who tells her of her lunacy.

Madwoman
Confessing murder!
Madwoman!

What song do you sing
To stop the ache from becoming a disease?

In the silent heartbeats of a summer breeze,
I let out a steady song.
In the dominating bursts,
Dominating bursts of colour,
A bird talks of a dying day.

Scanty brained old Mangoromera.
Deep in recitals of dance songs,
Deep in contemplation-
Colour! Sound!
Colour in red,
Sound in melodies.
Shying away from the itch in her brain
That threatens to overwhelm,
The itch that nibbles at her, clinging,
Never letting go.
Her laughter erupts out in spasms.
Mangoromera on a sidewalk,
She giggles,
She snorts.
She engrossed in mathematical equations of
1+1=2 class.
Old days in classrooms,
Days engrossed in jungles of books.
Laughter
And joy in efficiency.
Mangoromera
Clinging to memories
Of days spent with Gomo
Her ancient lover.

Colour! Sound!
Colour in red,
Sound in melodies.

She converses with her two selves
Mangoro and Mera.
She resides in alternate realities,
Stuck in the realm of song and dance
But in-between the realm of shadows
And ghosts of memories.
There she is a queen
Not a pauper.
There her voice trembles in-between a song
And she clutches at fading memories.
An immortal goddess.
Indistinct,
For she is the singer singing,
For she is the song sung,
She is the person in the song,
In each note she is recreated.
For she is the dance,
She is the heartbeats pounding,
She is the air,
The thud,
The sweat,
She is in the dance.
She is the shapeless drifter,
She drifts within memories
Absolving each,
Nursing each.

In her madness beauty is created,
In my madness I am them
And in their madness they are me.
They my parallel selves only to meet
At the brink of insanity.

So do tell,
What song do you sing,
I sing,
We all sing,
When the voice lies dying?
©Barbra Zimema Anderson

MsBreeze

A writer, a designer, a thinker, a lover, a fighter, a curious person of sorts.

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