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Amnesia

Amnesia

A Poem by A.T.B.

 

i left my memory
lodged between two breasts
as i gave in to shameless
prurient craves,
sucking on the sweetness
of soused lust
sprouting through scrawny hair
that indulged the zephyr of my breathing
one lonely hour in the winter
when rain was scarce
and
i was thirsty.
the whole world then
was about
            moans
                        groans
                                    waves that shook
the loins,
the core.
i smiled at my creation,
my universe of a second duration
as
loneliness set in again
introducing my pugnacious self
worse than before, 
that acrid feeling
of loss
and
i was left with
faceless features,
a body without a name
and veiled eyes.
the smile was ubiquitous.
to
            whom
                        those
                                    breasts
            belong?
i didn’t know.
that memory was hard to trace
with just a featureless face
floating in a haze
lost in a maze
in some time/place.
hardly anything fazed me
but now
i am plagued with universality.
 
i left my memory hanging on a fig tree
fi l’blad*
my mother told me not to play on that
tree but i swung from branch to branch
when she couldn’t see. i was a bird; free!
so many cups of sweet mint tea 
we drank in the shade of that fig tree.
i slept hugging its roots covered by its leaves,
high on its pungent smell,
amazed at the whiteness of its gluey nectar.
but since i left my country
the memory of it started to fade until it
disappeared.
like a setting sun,
surrendering me
to the darkness,
to the heartless cold embrace
of a winter night,
it became a distant memory
the warmth of which
i long for,
a faceless dream
in which the birds migrated
north and west to never come back.
a nightmare.
 
the birds' chirping like a foghorn
no one heeds.
a desolation it behooves me to suffer
they were right when they said
the desert is moving
north.

© 2008 A.T.B.


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that memory was hard to trace
with just a featureless face
floating in a haze
lost in a maze
in some time/place.
hardly anything fazed me
but now
i am plagued with universality.

I hit this point and the river just began to flow from here. Such a strong flow of words. You cleverly placed the rhyme together. Made it fall in place instead of being something forced to fit. It's always obvious to tell when a person truly captures a moment by the words they use, and how they use them. I must say that this piece truly had me drawn in from the start. The way you spoke of a lost memory that must not have gone too far astray. Some part of it still exists.

I read your work and it amazes me.

Bless!

Posted 12 Years Ago


that was really beautiful. thank you

Posted 12 Years Ago



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Added on July 31, 2008

Author

A.T.B.
A.T.B.

http://cabalamuse.wordpress.com



About
I am neither fish, fowl, nor good red herring (from ASK THE DUST by John Fante.) I'm the author of writings that are yet to be understood. Soon, the world will catch on. more..

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