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.