One too quick, I once called it…

One too quick, I once called it

Screeching cicadas attempted to obliterate
The sinuous strokes of my broken pencil.
They engraved their fingerprints onto the corner of my palms,
To liquefy the tumors that I never had-
And mollify the concerns they were aware of.

Their endeavors forced them to venture
Into a world of mere oblivion and ignorance-
While all it took was a mere lub dub,
Coming from within an illuminated cavern.

As you approached, I anticipated further deafening voices,
Yet all you did was plant me within your arms-
Camouflaging me behind newly blossomed yellow roses.

I approached a step closer to fitly attend
To the oracle beseeched by an inhabitant of your right ventricle.
I believe I was taught Math as a juvenile
To calculate your quickened heart waves
Like an electrocardiogram.

On a hospital bed, I memorized the steps,
To attempt to scribble amateur graphs
Onto a paper filled with feminist conceptions.
Replicating the sound of your heartbeats
As the pen traveled onto the white surface.

For others, I count their breaths-
For you, as I embrace you, 
I listen to the soothing sound
Of a lub,
Then a dub-
And, a lub
And, a dub...
Arnacia Alexithymia 

Forenoon and dead of night, she squandered
On a foregone tapestry.
A present-day Penelope
Yearning for her lover,
Lost at sea. 

Bone-weary stylus, embraced 
By her maroon stained metacarpus,
Traces familiar trails-
In attempt to recall
His tender waves. 

In crimson linen, she sews
A singular mole on his annulary.
To whom shall she implore, Dear Gods?
For a chance to cover the oval
With sinful gold. 

Tomorrow she will dismantle-
His frozen figure
And venture in samite-
To fathom the sudden shivers of ardor
Transmitted through his gaze.

By dawn, Penelope will tear apart
Threads of infinite perspectives.
In her dusty chamber, she will admire
Self-destructive serpents of anguish,
Blooming beside the olive tree.

Alas, she does not know where she stands.
Will the Heliotropes run out?

Strides of youngsters
Audible to the festered shell-likes
Dispatched tremors in the subterranean areas,
Sending the fleas away-
The same fleas that took shelter
In the crevice of our craniums. 
I give ear to their chortles 
Merging with the deafening chime
Of the church bell
That once dawdled in the blow,
Delaying the sacred ceremony
 Apt for union. 

I wordlessly question your heed 
Of their subtle cavorts 
In the mud puddle that
In wintertide, 
Sheltered our corpses
From the screeches and hits of the thunder.

Our pisiform bones
Still touching, occasionally allow
Bugs to trespass the bridges,
We have once created.
They have utilized us often,
By tracing our remnants with animate legs.

Our decomposed flesh has blossomed 
A dozen heliotropes.
I sit and wonder if you have felt 
The excruciating pain
As each young lover picks a flower 
To his beloved. 
Are we soon to be over, my one?
Demise of a Distant Laughter

Mystery lurks in the deepest shadow,
An elder, once a father figure
Monitors the flow,
Of her single waltz.

The shared and noticeable counterparts-
Of a blade laid on the kitchen counter, 
Dicing her flesh into tiny parts,
Tapered teeth sink and engrave motifs.

The same claws enclosing my cadaver-
To offer shelter from fiendish doings,
Committed crimes
Of slapped rubicund cheeks.

Delicate yet petrifying hands,
Butterfly to rotten caterpillar-
Laughter under the bask
A distant flicker.

In the estuary I still tremble, 
Motionless waters of the stream,
Tempests of chaos within the tide-
Imprisoned in between, I urge to scream.
Prattle in Prometheus’s Castle

Moonlight enfolds summer solstice,
Hark! The crows screech-
Hark! The silent cock,
As shadow lays upon
Its drowsy countenance.

In my chemise I trot,
Discovering the corridors
Of Prometheus Castle-
While witnesses intrude whispers
Of bottle messages. 

Stranded on its battlement,
I welcome the yells
Of an ancient alchemist
Performing his dance.
Tell me Prometheus,
Is this how you prance?

Resting beside me he sings,
The things I left hidden-
In Prometheus Castle, 
I sit and listen.
Tell me Prometheus,
Is this how it begins? 

“You dimmed the lights enough,
To be enveloped by murk.
The partition of your pack,
A wolf stranded in the center-
Tell me Prometheus,
Is this where I reside?  

“Await the decay of your flesh,
At present sour and still-
Allow me to tempt you to dance,
For only I will perceive you,
Forevermore and a day.”
Tell me Prometheus,
Is the apple that lush?

On the pinnacle, he stands
Like a scarecrow on a field-
His primal Eve prey
Bites the apple from the tree.
Tell me Prometheus,
Is this how it ends?

Thea Daou is a senior student in English Language and Literature and Mass Media and Communication at the University of Balamand, Lebanon.