The Dream - Poem by Upanshu Mishra
An angel waited for me with her wings folded,
Like a songbird, nuzzling her head.
Her face was blank,
She had no eyes,
OR any other feature for that matter.
Yet she was exquisite,
Faceless angel with huge black wings.
I saw a scythe
It made me shiver, yet morbidly fascinated me.
I was drawn to it.
Attracted by the power exuded by it,
Yet I craved it, like an addict yearning for a narcotic soporific.
I lunged for it, took a step forward, lost all my senses
And then I was running.
The scythe was becoming a distant dream
It was toying with my feeble brain
And all of a sudden,
It was in front of me, clenched in the hands of the faceless angel who appeared to be waiting.
I was scared.
Intimidated by the maws of death that loomed upon me,
Like a tree, that provides shade to the weary travelers.
I took a step back, turned around and broke into a sprint.
Hoping for the scythe to become a distant dream.
Yet I remained transfixed.
Sheer terror now gripped my heartless chest,
I lamented for my unloved life, cried for my non-existent lover, and desired her sweet lips that I’d never tasted.
In a moment of foolishness, of bravery and hopelessness,
I turned around,
Stared at the face of the one devoid of features.
She offered me the scythe.
[A weapon I’d so craved for]
She sang me a song.
[Sweeter than that of a songbird]
My hesitation was abated.
She prodded me to die.
I, like an obedient husband, brought it over my head, chopped it off clean.
My neck was now a fountain,
Spouting red nectar that poured inside my gaping mouth.
A thick coppery taste filled my throat; the liquid that I drank flowed out on the bloodied floor.
My eyes snapped open,
My breath was labored,
My hands reached for my head
To find it still lording over my body,
Reassured I slept to dream of the faceless angel again.
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