February 1, 2023

Parapraxis

Writer's Showcase

ONE MORNING COMES

3 min read

One Morning Comes

I penned this some while ago. It concerns one particular instance of Man’s inhumanity to his fellow man, that took place somewhere in Iraq.

—o—

 

 

One morning comes. Eyes stay blinded to a brand new day.
Brain begins boot routine, losing the threads of dreams,
Connecting the strands of consciousness to the forefront
As blood runs cold… The whump of adrenaline hits…
Sickens the stomach and churns the wrenching gut inside…
This morning has come. Did prayer fall on deaf ears?
Were wishes lost, scattered to the bloodstained dusty floor?
Were the pleadings unbalanced against unjust law?

The food comes. Mouth opens, but the throat gags at the thought.
No words are said. The ears hear hardened clomping boots
Connecting with the stone. The chest prodded by a plate.
A grunt in some foreign twang, and footsteps recede.
Rapid hands lower a platter to the floor in haste
Then seek to staunch the flow of unseen clear vomit.
Desperate synapses flood the brain with endorphin
Struggling to gain control of a shattering shell.

The water comes. Lips suck, anxious to wet a tarnished tongue.
Hands shake. Water trickles down an innocent chin
Connecting childhood with these imprisoned adult hours.
Gunshots in the distance bring out the slightest hope…
Then just the heavy thumping beat of a fearful heart, and
The rasp of a coarse blindfold across covered ears.
Thoughts fleet to and fro through dear long lost living patterns:
A wife. A family. A home. Some warm comfort.

A captor comes. Rough hands hoist the trembling frame to stand.
A warm trickle snakes down a cold thigh. No control.
Connecting, convulsive, esophageal surge aborts.
One more silent prayer leaks into the ether.
The walking stops, and unknown voices ignore this soul,
This father, this husband, this child, this frail life force.
Inevitability. The real culmination
Is recognised, and the spirit stills the body.

The moment comes. Is bent towards the floor on sore knees.
The prayer comes. The long tremulous dialect sings.
Connecting thoughts; eons of time filled with phantoms scenes.
The blow comes. It is short and blunt and doesn’t hurt.
The blood comes. Squirting purposelessly into dead air.
The sound comes. It resonates – not to severed ears.
The end comes. On far off soil a beauteous flower
Unfolds its gentle petals to face a golden sun.

The moment comes. The ax man feels the chilly Karma
Heavy on his heart. Chaos enters memory
Connecting awful sights with awful sounds, awfully.
Eyes show the burning need to cleanse away the sight,
Oscillating from side to side to avoid the truth…
Laying soiled, but triumphant in termination.
Still. Calm. Unconcerned. Spirit rises on silver chords
Trailing behind the long awaited son’s return.

The piercing gaze: of perpetual gentility…
The loving: the understanding hand on shoulder…
Connecting: happiness; the friendliness; loving folk…
The understanding: no hate; no guilt; no wrong; just love…
The feeding: chocolate drizzles on thick clotted cream…
The smoothing: coloured swathes of cloud softly caress…
The memory… Lives. Years. Ages. Tribes. Races. Friends. Kisses…
The purpose: pure, advancing, never ending, life…

And finally… communion.

 

 

© Allen Ansell 2022

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7 thoughts on “ONE MORNING COMES

  1. Allen, I can only say…Wow! I read this fast at first, then went over it again; but it still works for me best as a rapid fire ‘stream of consciousness’. And how skilfully you’ve brought to life the sheer terror of the victim, blindfolded. And the executioner has to live with what he has done.

  2. Thank you for such a valued comment, Dougie. Things that hurt us most are often the subject of poetry. I find war and it’s inhumanity to painful to even think about most of the time… yet somewhere the scenes slink in between the guarding fingers and there it is. If it never gets written about no one will ever learn….. perhaps.

  3. When first published on UKAuthors, this poem was entitled “Death by Misadventure”. Of it, ‘KarenUK’ said, “Difficult subject matter, but handled very well. Some really excellent stuff in there. I loved these lines –

    It resonates – not to severed ears.
    The end comes. On far off soil a beauteous flower
    Unfolds its gentle petals to face a golden sun.

    The severed ears bit is just slotted in there almost as an aside, it feels, but it makes you re-read it and think ‘Ahhhh, I see…’

    I’m not expressing myself too well here (blame my hyperactive 9 year old who won’t shut up!!) but I hope you know what I’m trying to convey!”

    Also in UKAuthors, ‘Jolen’ said of it, “Once again you give eloquent voice to some very grim realities, and the ending of this fine piece is perfectly executed, if I may use that word. Very powerful and provocative writing, Thank you for sharing.”

    1. Woowwwwie, it is damn good Allen. It is so cool, and it says a lot of things about the people who actually suffers through this. It is a brilliant poem I would say, you put your words in such a beautiful way, where I could only say that they are awesome.

  4. As I always say you have been gifted with the art of expressing things very nicely and in this poem too you have described the scenes, the detailed things very well!
    Every stanza of the poem was amazing but
    the 6th stanza was something eye catching for me. Excellent write-up.. Thank you:)

  5. What a beautiful and thought-provoking piece! It emotionally described the mind and thoughts of a person about to be beheaded for something that might have been tribal. The line “Did prayer fall on deaf ears?” Really resonated with me especially with all the latest happenings in the world. Sighs…

    1. Yes. This most definitely was difficult for me to write, mainly because I could almost feel the emotions that my words try to describe.
      May I join you with my on sigh. Will we ever learn?
      Allen

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