The Devil Echoes, ‘I Hurt, But I Don’t Heal.’

Another cold November night coming to an end, thunder splits the skyline in two and dark nothingness stretches between an infinite abyss of broken hopes, forgotten dreams, echoes of painful heartbreaks flowing in a river of un-cried tears and short defeated bursts of emotions, like the possessions of the dead floating on the Greek River Of Styx.

All that is forgotten, all that is lost, the angels that gave up and the demons that fought. The faint wisps of solid smoke rising from Caesar’s grave, an echo of a soul that was destiny’s slave.

The eyes of a tortured being, hurts with nothing but echoes of memories that burnt their eyes, the windows to the soul, into un-closable holes. Imprints left on the white beach sand, wiped clean by the black water’s hand.

The names cried out, stifled against the unseen pillows of prayers , the raindrops that disguise the tears one wears. To not be seen, their blood flows free from a hand not cut enough, just after supper; The broken anatomy of a body flung from the highest skyscraper.

A bullet shot into the skull of a man, another girl crumbling onto her knees, after another midnight at his hands. The scream of an unborn and undead child, loosing a life he’d never find.

The cocaine in that pipe, the bourbon in that glass, the last burning cigarette’s pass. Half a burnt face, eyes lost in a war, the wrong side of a road, a burnt overturned car.

A dog laying dead and cold and millions passing by discreet, the words that bid adieu to a tongue and shatter the ears they meet.

Mistakes, revenge, regrets and hate.

What are these, if not twisted, forgotten, ignored and suppressed echoes of true men and their Devil’s fate.

Between the lines of fear and blame, you begin to wonder why you came.

– Shabnam Mondal

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