Still they lie on the river-bed.
Unforgotten; daughters of the sun
their itching, prickling, stabbing beams
And dusks that ran ran red
But tread on, the circus just begun,
The ripples— mote by mote— by seams
The sands stir and rocks twitch
Dull-eyed creatures still non-living go
Roses bloom, say, roses rise
Once lively dawns to sacked towns switch
Body and body and body we sow
Roses bloom, say, roses rise
Say, still they lie; still sessile
Of tens a blooming heart we plucked
Still some more we knew as our own
Stumble on we desperate while
Lie we still in the river-bed tucked
Oh, those parched pieces that once shone
and these wretched blooms undying
Oct 14, 2021
Oct 14, 2021 at 12:42 PM UTC
Still they lie on the river-bed.
Unforgotten; daughters of the sun
their itching, prickling, stabbing beams
And dusks that ran ran red
But tread on, the circus just begun,
The ripples— mote by mote— by seams
The sands stir and rocks twitch
Dull-eyed creatures still non-living go
Roses bloom, say, roses rise
Once lively dawns to sacked towns switch
Body and body and body we sow
Roses bloom, say, roses rise
Say, still they lie; still sessile
Of tens a blooming heart we plucked
Still some more we knew as our own
Stumble on we desperate while
Lie we still in the river-bed tucked
Oh, those parched pieces that once shone
and these wretched blooms undying
14/10/2021
"Hello, Paul. Thank you for the comment on Roses Bloom.
Even as I write this, I realise that I did not do a very efficient job of depicting my thoughts in the poem, as I was paying too much attention to the rhymes. It was a clumsy attempt, but, well, here is what I meant to say:
The poem is about all the good parts of myself that I have lost along the way. All the versions of myself through the past, through every day (thus ‘the daughters of the sun’) that I have killed/neglected. I guess I could say that the poem is about goodness lost as one progresses through life - I do not mean that in a sense that we become bad, or that I think I did, rather that we lose parts of ourselves as we grow, and some of them also happen to be good. This poem is about a temporary state of mind that regrets all that loss.
And all the dull-eyed creatures go on, meaning that days pass on, and the waves of everyday living hide from us all those sins we committed, or goodness we lost. But the bodies still lie there, and I see them very often. They bear all the memories of myself, and they are myself, yet I can do nothing to undo my doing.
Well… It ***** that I could not write it very brilliantly so as to make the theme or message clear, but, well, thank you for reading anyway.
P.s. sorry for the rant."
[Copy-pasted]
Request permission to use this poem