The Pregnant Moon - Original Poetry (Form: Ghazal)
Dead hands cut a part of me, that’s cast away.
Women crowd around dissecting with there eyes,
each cooing wordless sounds, pain drains away.
My straining lips cease there chomp on cedar wood,
un-shed tears bled, which they wipe away.
Above a woman smiles down, fire-light eyes
sunken deep in river brown, that moves away.
While hands that held me down retreat,
people hush and wait to see, and mutter away,
‘this is not a good sign, with all that struggling
the bleedings worse’. They frown, and turn away.
Outside the swollen pregnant moon cowers,
hyenas slink in and out of trees, then scuttle away,
harbingers of death stinking of putrefying flesh,
snakes carpet the naked ground, tongues flickering away,
discerning perhaps the charnel earth and smell
of salty sultry meat on the breeze, that drifts away.
As my yelping heart tries to kick start,
my temples throb and pound, explode and I’m away.
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