The Harbinger of Death

 

I stand looking

across the dusty street

at the cinderblock walls of

her humble timeless dwelling

swept by desert sands in

need of a more peaceful

place to amass

and speckled by shrapnel and bullets

whose crackling sound

I can still hear

if I put my ear against the wall.

the slugs lie where they dropped

like dead flies.

like dead people.

the rusty metallic front door

whose chipped green paint

faded long ago

sometimes the wind would rattle.

I see her as she

finally comes out

clad in a black abaya

the hardness of her face

tampered by a mercurial smile.

her eyes squinting against

the perfidies of the world

as she walks past drivers

hailing potential customers

blurring into a background

of people adrift in their own city.

 

don’t venture down those ominous

ways,

I warned.

don’t thread into that austere

city.

the harbinger of death was here

and I heard your name called

dearly.

Reviews

[Gandré]

The dust of sadness is compelling crackles with suspense. It is like one who travels ahead of his military legion to secure nedcessities and sleeping accommodation, finding just few fragments of a world what is not anymore. In this searing poem of guilt and paralysis I found an ancient smoke, the fame of the old Mesopotamia and the honor of their inhabitans. The grammar form imperative is piercing the reader with a sustaining message. How comes that I read you the first time? Would be good if we could be friends and read each other. Currently I write on a book using new and old material. This was widely open space...impressive talent of yours.

[PianoandPage]

i really like how you describe the walls. the echos of violence still there like a shell on the beach. the sort of menacing mystical energy that is left over and calls out the names of those fated to die.

you write with power.

[Jet Lag]

ahhhh. i am so tardy in getting to my reading list, that everyone below has already said what i intended to write. bravo, again. glad to see you are featured in ms. susi's group.

[Kelley Pascoe]

I loved these lines the most.......

"I warneddon't thread into that austerecitythe harbinger of death was hereand I heard your name calleddearly"

This was really a great poem Cabala Muse!!! Thanks for sharing a look on the darker parts of life.
Kelley Frost

[Damien Dsoul]

You've got yourself quite a vivid imagination, and you sure utilise it to distinct delight in this poem. The imagery of the woman moving and roving amonsgt the streets, the way you describe her, is so very surreal and yet foreboding.

[Fairwells]

I really liked that. It made me think of a muslim woman in Iraq or Afghanistan. It made me think of the difficulties of living and trying to survive in a war zone. Loved it =) I had to look up "abaya." Thanks. I learned a new word. hehe

[JC]

"the harbinger of death was here and I heard your name called dearly"... reminds me of something of John Donne " Do not ask for whom the bell tolls", ominous and foreboding.

This definitely has a different tone and feel from previous works, albeit, it is still a great piece.
I think perhaps you are missing a "d" though: "shrapnel an(d) bullets".
May the wind of change continue to inspire the pen, and thank you for the invite.
JC

[Emily B]

This is my favorite of all your words I've read. She would not stay. She has to go. I dreamed I was in that place one night last week. I dreamed I was there.

I really like the way you write. You describe things so... I can't remember the word.... but It's a good write and your stile is good!