The Bang Of Doom Poem by Mohsen Zohrab Beigi

Part1
One Night, a lot like tonight,
Fright! With the shape of a scythe,
Stirs me up,
To hear, squeakers are squeaking buzzing sounds of gusts,
And while snow is falling from the silky sky,
Wolves are yowling raucously, for their cubs above rocks.

Am I wrapped up in the hole of making freaks?
As awaken eerie, keeps its hunting on my frail knees.
Haven't I drowned within whims?

Being Fed through the terror that encompasses fouls,
Bewildering of the edge of alive or dead,
Shaking, shuddering, and dangling in the crag,
Since wolves are calling, the lights are on but shaken to fall.

In some stagger and roars,
One Wolf crawls on all flours and groans,
Hey Lord,
Have we faced blood sports?
If begging balms are being tugged with slough.

Part2

In the abs of mashing awe,
A rash force comes to wave a flow,
Who can believe that,
Music's transaction of Pow,
A deadly breaking trumpet among their groans,
Hardly above the pissing on sheer horror, while moans.

Hatch is done,
It's over,
Since there's no breath around growls.

The babbling words of my tongue barely shells, "It's a truth, but a lie,
What that trumpet recalls Might be right.

Haven't I awakened with that thrown?

Part3
Since heavy snowfall whacking,
To cease someone who cares for living,
Pawned my feet in white-hot snow,
Dejection, as to hit the ground for aching understanding.

Ah, Farewell,
With those maudlin spirits flew off cheers,
And welcome to the road of hell accompanied by septic seeds.

Thick and asphyxiating.
As is carried by the caustic sting.

Part4

My ears catch a fleeting faint sound.
It's a scratched feeling, out of the corner of my eyes,
Hold a sort of whisper hastily murmurs, "
Ten minutes, ten minutes, ten minutes… in reckoning counts."

With full ifs and buts,
A lament flight,
Ten minutes rule the nights!

It's in a trice.

Heard a vigorous voice wandering:
"but I, no buts.
to nod for an Author elucidates a rainy day".

Trenching like venom,

As swallow saliva is tight.

It is in a jar.


Some dogs are yelping far away,
They'd be hope but within vague,
As are awakened from the pales,
To keep fog within graves,
That's what feels lies on my fate unaided.

Haven't I begged within fogs?

Oh, my lonely spirit,
My hands are stained,
Where shall I go?
As nowhere is through.
Part5

The soaring spruce in around,
Stretching his sound of fishy to the world beyond
And quavers, "
Get a move on if you don't want to be alone.
Isn't it the one holding on dimed fire in my chest?
As emptiness clutches everything around?

The path across the spruce stirs steps up,
It's an unleashed recognition.
Torched in the field of truth,
Ceded to the blind fate of seals,
As my frail feet face the foggy route.

Haven't I been affirmed with that sealing truth?

In the heat of the magic moment of chow,

The lullabies are heard from the wind's blow
It seems to recollect the entire world in a mirror,
Since the chiming song calls a child to bounce up to breast-sucking milk in doubt!

How sweet is, the crybabies are soothing songs for mothers since the wee hours,
And how painful is, as their chiming sounds are lost on a rainy day.

Part 6:

At the ponder of this fate of mine,
Huge crowds of fellows are being absorbed by the divine,

And a voicing chime:
"I am the truth that never lies,
I am the life that never dies,
I am a repressor for all deceivers,
As our mandates break down the wrecking walls".

Haven't I been dumbed for that mandate?

Yeah, There'll be no more ah!
For what I've bound myself to the life that never shines through what I've shown.