Apparently, today is the first anniversary of my arrival to WordPress, and the birth of the Nocturnal Versifier. I had some conceptual knowledge of the season, yet time itself escaped through the masks of existential atavism and continuous obsession with mastery.

Contrary to the name, the Nocturnal Versifier was either wept, frustrated, or itched into existence by day, close to the all-pervading golden rays of one late afternoon. And if I am honest, I had never thought I would create such a platform to have my words readily available anywhere in the globe, just as I never thought such a thing would be spawned and erected upon the corpse of a family member.

Cheers to my aunt for the lugubrious inspiration! She opened the door for a more engaged poetic expression. Even though I may distrust her incorporeal representation, it should be known to her and to all that I am grateful.

I never knew my aunt favoured any song in specific, just that she adored everything Chayanne related; therefore, I leave here a song to her honour and memory.

Image by Karen Smits from Pixabay

“O Harbinger of Death!


Thou who guisest in wise warm and red,

give ear to my supplications and cast not aside this faithful servitor.

Rise, Lady of Demise!

Thine is the scepter of will razor-sharp.

Thy love be manifest through the veins of wintry light,

thy fatal kiss a seal upon the forehead of this renegade

abhorring the despotic Nightmare White.

Rise, my Muse of War Delight!

Sing me a lullaby, and dispel the sway of the counterpart

that I may be made witness to the gnosis of the night.”

~*~

Dame Esurience bore through the flames of the fireplace, staining the floor with tar.

She sat by the windowsill as she punctured her skin with a silver needle and shrieked.

In the wake of her displeasure, Lady Rave convulsed her way out of her vessel.

“Needst thou disturb my rest?”

Shadows of non-pretense stacked behind the sleeper –

the conjuring of wrath past the starless ancient prison.

“Canst thou hear the cries of thy breed?

The seedling of thy deeds invokes the parentage of sublime conquering.”

Dame Esurience left the window in a whim

and danced upon the obscenity her visit had begotten.

“Quintessential beast of blackness unforgotten,

new blood reaches out for torment.”

“Cease, foul thing of human conscience!” Lady Rave snarled

with might of self-belonging.

“Leave this cave of wonders undiscovered and my justice yet unbroken.

Leave my cave of cosmic pathways.

Return to the master who thee gaveth breath and order.”

~*~

Star-dust, madness, fire!

Of being blinded I am tired!

Primeval Darkness, interlace my spirit and body.

Venerated home, engulf me with power.

Mother of Relentless Sempiternity – my pride, my bloodline –

claim me as yours as I thee pronounce mine.

Our union shall prevail for all time.

~*~

“Fool!” cried the viper of warfare

by fire, revenge, and mist of sway –

fury, madness, and eager to pain.

Thou hast invoked about the end.

Vera riseth to this place –

the titaness, the peerless grace.

Hers is a side where no soul findeth rest.

Thou hast chosen putrefaction

to polish the black diamond of the depths.

The scales weigh above thy head.

Truth will be the death of thy mortal shell.”



Image by Michael Knoll from Pixabay
https://pixabay.com/photos/sculpture-statue-stone-sculpture-3055967/

Kaheri, although my blood, I marvel at all she needs to discover. This young woman is in pain, and she knows not how to use it or overcome it. She will not aid the improvement of her condition consciously, for she is far too lost in the crevices of reversed light and doctrine. Kaheri is young, in both body and soul. She may portray a harsh and loud exterior, but such assertion only hides the real her. Kaheri of my bloodline has still many tears to shed. This crude expression of a being in a suit of flesh mourns still her mother’s death, a bleeding and poisoned wound far too recent. Kaheri, the elder, is perturbed, and with a reason.

I became cognizant one afternoon, a considerable amount of days or weeks before the news of the deceased. I sat at the table as I consumed my lunch when I heard through a phone call that the woman who birthed Kaheri would have to undergo surgery. I neither saw nor felt but knew with a certain conviction about the impending earthly departure. I knew that neither Kaheri nor we would ever embrace our troubled beloved sick as a fellow human being as the mortal repose would not have mercy on her.

According to what we gathered, specially after the sudden and forced trip to Cuba, our troubled beloved felt her strength waning, but never did she speak of the severity of her unwellness. She was taken to the hospital where she was cut open at the say of a doctor for the extraction of her vesicle without running tests to verify the source of the soon to be dead’s malady. In sooth, Kaheri’s mother had, for a long time, incubated Hepatitis B which was passed onto her by her idiotic husband who failed to follow his check-ups to observe and treat the condition and even ever mention that he was a bearer of the virus.

The removal of our troubled beloved sick’s vesicle was undoubtably unnecessary. This reckless operation only weakened her immune system and vampirised her life. Due to a negligence, Kaheri is now orphan of mother —a morose cup weeping upon a bleak tomb, demanding that her life giver answer why she left when her child needed her most. Due to a negligence, we wet our cheeks with salted grief as there was still a spark of life in the dead’s eyes.

Affected by the bereavement of someone who loved me strong and kissed my eyelids at any chance she had, I am also one to comprehend that the dead are only dead in flesh, placed on a different plane of existence that humans carelessly disregard out of fear or ignorance. People may concern themselves with the condition of a fellow being, but they, we, from our innermost, only grieve out of a selfish sentiment. We desire what is lost when it is too late to retrieve it. We will remember our troubled beloved, but one must not journey through life stirring the bile of suffering. The deceased should be celebrated instead of hauled down by sorrow. I, for once, decided to remember the newly departed with a smile as it is imperative to practice the making of wonders blossoming out of gloom. Kaheri, on the other hand, has a harder path, wandering the youth-besotted labyrinths of her mind as she learns to heal and find inner peace. The old child has been taught the ways of detriment. She, like many, is unable to grasp beyond the thresholds of physicality. Untrained in much that is even herself, Kaheri must voyage her being to know how to will a change within herself with the mere intention of provoking one. One can only observe and offer a hand if she truly desires it.