Tropic of cancer

 

Tropic of cancer

(To John Beck who could have written this better)

The burning carbuncles cruelly smiles.

They have the faces of assassins, broad, witty,

sharp, projected and barren. Ashen is he.

The bed is growing large and large and blue with

 

the venom it sees. It is burning inside

and I can not touch the eclipse of flesh and

erosion of soul, still I share the burn.

It is a sore that drives into him who beholds.  

 

Whisper of his voice echoes in the wide

white washed hall. I pray and when prayers turn

into birds to fly heaven with messages

fastened to their legs I grasp to breathe more.

 

For the time is not there any longer.  

An autumn is blending into cold winter.

© 2008 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar

Reviews

[Beautifully Tragic xPoe..]

Sorry it took me so long to review this. I actually enjoyed this piece. Great write!

[alternative_be]

Tropic of cancer makes me think of Henry Miller's book and its counterpart Tropic of Capricorn. Reading your poem over and over again, you thickled my brain wondering what geography and decay could possibly have in common, which lead to the association with the universally dreaded disease, which no one seems to be able to escape.
This gloomy poem is (to me) one of your better works. Never have I seen decay captured into excellence and beauty, melancholy, loss, the pain of letting go and saying good bye to our dear ones.

'For the time is not there any longer. An autumn is blending into cold winter.'
I wish for you to have a lot of time my friend, so you can keep on writing!

[Ankhesen Mié]

I get the feeling, but honestly, not the story. I have my theories, but eh...I'm more about the wording here. I like it. I think it should be set to music.