Ghosts of Animals With Souls Extinguished
Misbah loves writing poetry. She says poetry is what makes her coronary heart feels heat and lightweight.
Where beforehand there have been tall eucalyptus bushes,
Ghosts of animals with souls abolished.
The mattress’s recollection is hauntingly disturbing.
A bygone wave divides right into a smiling.
These amputations of the Earth’s woods and cosmos
As if it had been a phantom limb from a broken torso,
Itches in scabs and sores to fill the void.
The moors of Cythera will now be embellished.
All of those foul creatures— carbonaceous our bodies
Where attempt, enslaved by the chains of mysteries,
The limbs of the bush of the residing, trimmed
The humus lees needs to be amended and nourished.
What an enormous wave of power, flipped to darkness.
In an embryo, I’ll reseed this wilderness;
These bleak, cumulus-free expanses…
What type of individuals shall be reborn from these ashes?
This monster within the creation— crown itself with a cry,
Served by individuals of silence— soulless and no conscience
Beauty is forbidden underneath the reign of this king.
The Angelus is struck from a coal chime.
In the midnight, it echoes creepy
Whistles the anthem of its devotees — People tinged with envy,
Never blissful.
Your avatar, this desert, ever-expanding
Gangrene has looted every part.
You go to solitude figuring out, you are being spied on,
By your phantom limbs that returned too late.
Under your proud individual, the bottom hides.
Which carries its agitation to all winds;
Without figuring out that its listening to with poor acuity
Ignores within the night time the bell that rings
Without work, all life goes rotten. But when work is soulless, life stifles and dies.
— Albert Camus
