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Love Song for Nefertiti by AzraelDarkAngel540, literature
Literature
Love Song for Nefertiti
There is a love song,
In the sands of Egypt,
Sedated, the grainy hue
Of its voice scratching out
Of a battered tape recorder
And a chipped thimble glass
Of Saiidi tea.
Qalbi mwaħħda ma tiegħek,
Is-sbuħija tiegħek tħennini kuljum.
Nixtieq li nerġa nitwieled mill-ġdid,
Mogħni bil-ħajja permezz ta' mħabbtek.
Bennini ġo dak il-ġuf tafli tiegħek,
il-patera tar-ruħ li ħallejt warajja,
qabel ma għumna fin-Nil,
għarwiena r-ruħ fix-xemx,
qalb l-għaram msaħħra
fid-deżert.
It is not stilled by
The war-cry of the muezzin
The Litany of Fury by AzraelDarkAngel540, literature
Literature
The Litany of Fury
When the truth, smothered for so long in lies, becomes a lie in itself, when a star, so flung out in the cold void of space, that it harrows the sky even more, when light becomes so engulfed in darkness that it becomes a dark light, is when silver, out of an ignoble kind of love, is painted over in fear of theft so that it passes for a common kind of metal and becomes tarnished, forgotten till a careless chip would bring the silver out again.
Old Souls by AzraelDarkAngel540, literature
Literature
Old Souls
Comatose, we lay
Drifting slowly
Through soapy panes
Of glass;
our way was lit
by bulbs who wished
they were tulips.
Our veins crept onto
Each other's hands as
Mottled vines/
Cracks in ill laid but
Well meant concrete
Through which
Daisies and marijuana
Seemed to flourish
Not knowing about
The streaming cables
Of fibre optic from
Beneath.
"The wheel chair
Became a chariot train..."
I wish...
Yet I was content to watch
them burgs of steel mottled airplanes
take off,
oh my how they
scarred the kids birds...
Panoramic by AzraelDarkAngel540, literature
Literature
Panoramic
When synthesizer piano keys are
Struck softly,
The notes swirl into
Eddies of dust,
Furnished with a soft
Glaze of sunlight.
The medicine man
Thalidomide god-child twinkled
them into existence, sitting upon
A chair in a field of barley
Littered with empty beer cans.
Wishing it was a dervish
It tried to link the motes
In a game of join the dots
Instead.
The Diadochoi by AzraelDarkAngel540, literature
Literature
The Diadochoi
The witch looked at the set of cards arrayed in front of her and blinked before taking a sip from a glass of watered down absinthe.
"Hmm..."
I was bored. I was under no illusion that I would derive any vague form of titillation from this particular reading. Every session had grinded – flicked on – ad nauseum with the vaguest form of meaning. If Gilder had been there, he would have been hovering behind the witch for a start, trying to sneak a look at the cards, and then shake his head, suggesting a change of witch. Go to the formal fortune tellers up in the red district, maybe even to a Librarian.
"Who is Gilder?" she asked.
"No
