‘Twas many moons ago in fled days of yore,
In a distant realm of a golden shore,
When there dwelt a maiden of golden hair,
The last fairest by the name of Lenore.

The sweetness of her mellifluous voice,
Like only Angels of high heaven can make;
The beaminess of her impeccable face,
Reflections of a dawn sun-kissed lake.

Once by a golden noontide, so they say,
Perfectly salubrious was the day,
Fairly enriched by heaven's fairest ray
That Lenore chose to potter by the bay.

She marveled at so wide a limpid sea,
That was a vast luminous blue millpond,
Whispering mellifluous lullabies
Like of Angels upon heaven's compound.

“O sea, thou art lovely like a sweet dream,”
Quoth Lenore, “In thy waters I must swim.”
Hence as quick as a plummeting sunbeam,
In waters jumped the little seraphim.

Frosted in sheer elation she galloped
Upon the crest of so gentle a wave,
But every sea creature lifted its head,
Whilst doleful as marigold by a grave,

And in faint whispers didst bid her adieu,
"Farewell Lenore," till she was out of view,
Away where mortals of yore never knew,
Away where none canst ever have a clue.

In a while, the sun had shone her last ray
And solitary stars were beaming bright
Upon heaven's timelessly stonking bay,
But she still alone In the dead of night.

By luck, on yonder was a galleon
Of a sundeck decked with bright neon,
Her glossy sails as if from diamond hewn,
With words golden blazoned upon her stern:

Come thou little maiden, come thou aboard,
But little did innocent Lenore know,
At the back words in clear ruby-red read:
“To the kingdom of eternal sorrow.”

Not so long faded the night, dawn was nigh,
Heaven's molten gold began oozing by,
Whilst silvery clouds waltzed athwart the sky,
That Lenore's eyes slavered with ecstasy.

But then, there came a dog in the manger,
A hateful wave assailed the galleon
And heavens raged with roaring thunder
That echoed louder than the hungriest lion.

Tossing her where the sea kisses the skies,
Hence now but a speck on the horizons,
And there she galloped by and by downwards
Till wrecked upon shadowy blue islands

That bore words by the shores: “Little maiden,
Welcome thou to the kingdom of Nineva,
Where mortals shalt see thee never again,
For here you'll dwell forever and ever.”

This sent poor Lenore reeling far in mind
That with cinder-like eyes stumbled behind
But her galleon she could hardly find
For it had long vanished into the wind.

But hark! Yonder woods sprang a companion,
A lad whose names were Edgar Alan Poe;
Bestrode upon a snowy fair stallion
Who unto her whispered softly and low:

“If the moon be fair, then thy skin fairer,
If the stars be bright, then thine eyes brighter,
If snow be white, then thy lip’s gems whiter,
If the sun be hot, then thy hair hotter,

Then tell me, what bringeth thou to Nineva,
A realm of eternal sorrow and fear,
Where no mortal hath escaped ever,
But ever doomed in dungeons of despair?”

Despite her visage was lugubrious,
Her worries were all now but fugacious,
That yonder fair floral woods susurrous
Galloped whilst trees sang in tunes mellifluous.

For Edgar’s words of kindness had soothed her
Now doth she beam with ethereal luster
Like of night lanterns upon heavens shore
Scintillating in a wondrous cluster.

Alas! strange and covetous myriad eyes
By yon brier coveted the beauty queen
That as passes a fiend in the night skies
Did spy upon her with eyes all unseen

'Tis then when Edgar was away hunting
Whilst the beauty queen was all alone singing
When those dreamy figures came whispering
Amongst each other whilst wildly smiling.

Bestrode upon many a snowy fair horse,
Their strange faces, as pale as death her self.
Their voices, as if thousand snakes didst hiss,
Betwixt them, there lordly sprang an elf

Who unto her said, "how sweet thou dost sing,
Thy melodious voice would so please our king,
Unto thee, rubies and pearls shalt he bring,
Of banished gold shalt be thy nuptial ring."

"Nay", softly replied the little maiden,
To thy king I canst not walk down the isle,
For in violent love I'm with a swain,
Thy king's treasures outweigh not his smile.

"Wretch", why dost thou abhor our proposal?
For soon thou art to regret having done so,
So cried the elf, "opting for a mortal
Than a mighty king who is immortal"?

"Hark! Fair moon, see that morrow by noontide
Thou art by the edge of yon verdant moor,
For then thou shalt come with us yonder side
Neath the sea, and dwell with us evermore."

At this, a wild wind danced by many a leaf
And so vanished the strange troop of the elf
That she busted with a sigh of relief
Though deep within, her soul kindled with grief.

Not long, news sprinkled into the swain's ear
Who gathered a troop of a thousand men
Each bearing a bow, a hummer and spear,
All ready to guard the beauty queen.

When came morrow, they took little Lenore
And laid her beneath a lone sycamore
That stood by the edge of a lonely moor,
And then all matched towards the shingly shore.

No army led by any hostile king
Towards them could ever come any near.
There job was great that they did chant and sing
Songs of triumph of the fled days of yore.

Alas! To match towards the sycamore,
There pale and cold laid innocent Lenore
With not any single bone of poor her
Broken, but her breath taken evermore.

Mute, forlon, and motionless stood the swain
With bitter tears galloping from his eye,
With his soul 'neath a sepulchre of pain
That from yon day on, the realm he did curse.

For in Nineva, a realm dim and deep,
There not a mean ray of light canst now creep,
And there all creatures night and day dost weep
Till sweet Lenore wakes from eternal sleep.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 16th.July.2018.

#tale #adventure #fantasy #Lenore #EdgarAlanPoe #Nineva

The Blue of which night where did you burn and for whom?   The thick of which black did you live in and dissolve?     The midnight of a reed-pipe where its song exhausted?    You were a dream,really a forlon,lone cloud    The very nostalgic moon-light that sought my soul and my self  //   The land of flowers had wept along and so did my birds and also my words    The songs of my green paddy-leaves where the noon-sun  melted      Expected your coming after the hot-days    The presence so much needed for so long!   //    A visit shaking the bamboo- field with leaf-long hands fluttering,you smiled     With your eyes of a black serpent    A fragrance you did drip  a in my nerves     Hearing a crackling moor-hen afar!      Whose tear-drops are there for my thirst? //    A wind is coming on so friendly my girl        Where have you gone,leaving me as one lost      Like a stork in the water-way        I have been waiting here for you       The knife-tongue of a rigorous plough     Cut through sweetly my youth so hard       May my spirit for ever be the spirit of my black and deep earth        Wont you be here to reap what you sowed?       We must ever be here and for ever!!          (translated from MALAYALAM  language ,INDIA, by the poet (girish puliyoor) himself. the original tittle is  OTTAKKINAVU.)

their cries for help became like whispers
almost like the mere passing wind
it blew against the people's ears
their pain ignored, dismissed, unseen

she doesn't recall how she has let
the demons to come, at her, to laugh
at the raging storm inside her head
against the war her heart has stirred up

as cliche as it seems, she is his world
she intoxicates the chemicals he breathes
he couldn't let go of that one girl
her poison seeping to his soul within

like the falling of the autumn leaves
were the tears cascading down her cheeks
no sounds were made from her trembling lips
closing up like leaves dried and crisped

a rose is beautiful but its stem grows thorns
tightly he embraces her, the more he bleeds
the petals are wilting, dying, all forlon
his soul colors the same shade, dark and bleak

they walk alone in the pouring rain
the gloomy skies crying with them
they look like they're to be washed away
their world has crumbled to ashes again

I am gossamer

you are so quixotic

you drop my crystal heart again,

but then you glue it back together.



You are so quixotic

our love is forlorn, broken

but then you glue it back together;

I'll give you another chance.



Our love is forlon, broken

you bring thunder to halcyon weather;

I'll give you another chance,

unable to see the thread from which i'm hanging.



You bring thunder to halcyon weather

I can't escape this storm

unable to see the thread from which i'm hanging;

I am gossamer.

You all remember the romantic fickleness of being fifteen, right?

Of course you do.

Everything was

Brand New. (But we faced the world with Bright Eyes)

Once again I’m sealing up my dried-on spilt blue dye

With a kiss between the lines of liquor boxes

Wondering in which book my nose was buried

During the moment that time casually hopped aboard

a timeless train with a clocked-out rate

Its silent departure breeding a fantastical escape.

Only the ironic forlon echo comes much later.

They don’t tell girls who waste their youth away between the lines of pseudonyms

Between the shelves of musty libraries

Every other warm summer day until dusk

Just how old you’ll feel in the reminiscence of inde-alternative and cardboard boxes.

At night she sits forlon
nothing but murkiness surrounds her.
The only company she has are her thoughts.
Most haunt her, taunt her even.
She was a pretty girl, with ugly thoughts.
To most she was invisible
almost as though she hardly exists.
What she didn’t know, was people saw her
people knew she existed.
Girls wanted to look like her
boys wanted to be with her.
But all she saw was darkness,
nothing really.
For her mind hated her
her thoughts controlled her.
It was almost as though she had no thoughts of her own.
Independence wasn’t familiar to her
she lived a life she didn’t even feel like she was living.
Every step she took every breath she made,
was it really her?
Or was it the evil hidden inside of her?
She can’t remember the last time she smiled
even the last time she laughed.
Can you even call your memories memories when all they are is bad?
Most of the time she wished she were dead,
but her thoughts pushed her otherwise.
They didn’t want her suffering to end
it’s what kept them alive.
The mornings were the closest thing you could call enjoyable to her.
Watching the sun rise gave her some unrealistic hope
maybe one day she could know what it felt like to smile with her eyes,
to genuinely smile and mean it.
Most nights were restless
her dreams haunted her more than her thoughts.
Happy images danced around in her head when she slept,
taunting her,
showing her what she would never have.
From the moment she actually understood life she knew hers wasn’t one to live.
“Pointless” she’d call it.
Yet here she is every morning
waking up
getting dressed
going to school
pretending to be normal.
pretending like she didn’t know her life was a dead end
pretending that one day, one day
things would get better.
Deep down she knew
she knew nothing would change.
The worst part of it all was she gave up
she didn’t try to stop the darkness
she didn’t  try to end her life anymore.
What was the point?
She either lived unhappily
or sat in the cold ground for eternity.
At least when she’s alive she can see other people happiness
at least she can smell fresh cut grass
and mornings after it rained.
She could stretch her arms
and scream at the top of her lungs.
She knew her life was no good,
but what’s worse than not living a life at all?

All of us believe
in something,
be it Real or Pseudo-Illusion,
Religious or Materialistic.
Most of us have
Phobia's,
although we seem
strong and Rough.
but DEEP within we
seek and yearn for
something'
Though the thought
of it scares the HELL
out of us,
no DOUBT most of
us OPT to seek shelter
from our own
SOLACE.
Forlon seekers we've
remained for so Long,
and at night nightmares
HAUNT us Rendering
us HAGRIDDEN.
no wonder our minds
are filled with Hideous
and Grubby thoughts.
JOVIAL faces we
portray daily,
but our Souls are
DESTITUTE,
CYNISISM is the Order
of the day and
maledicting at other
Peoples success.
In DEED real Ingrates
and Sartunine we are,
best things in life
are free and simple.
We're our own path-finders and
choosers of our own
KISMET..

I come
From the puddles of tears, mosaics of scars,
these glaring cracks in between
your perfect life,
mocking shadows cast by the street lights of
your corporate world.

I breathe
Fire, transforming rage,
lusting lips that
touch and dance
sing and bridge
cauterizing gaps in the heart and soul
melting between us.

I live
in the downtrodden, in the shame
of the man who made 2nd place again...
in your heart of hearts where
you weren't the one,
aren't desired, and
felt forlon

I dance
Where your fear consists only of
loving me not beating me,
kissing me, not calling me ***
listening, instead of hushing my
lips, excitement, heart -
most of all my spirit,
telling me who to be.

I am
A resuscitated catastrophe
trapped in this
prison of privilege and assumption
where affect is a key that opens doors
but can't get me out of this cell
without compromising
my identity.

I am.
I come.
I breathe.
I live.
I dance.

I am.

Isn't it fitting
To have complacency during time of anguish and forlon
Love is void, and empties our mind in which only sin can fill
The lies I can't tolerate nor encourage
And words are useless, they become idioms after a while and create poignant occurrences

i kind of want to *******
and be through
with that smug smirk
gracing angelic lips
and the infatuation brewing
in the folds of my washed out brain
like i have the patience,
let alone the time,
to sit here aimlessly
and fantasize.

there's something wicked
in how your hips move
stealthy like a panther,
midnight inky blue,
something bitter in my mouth
like your ******* attitude.
you don't say my name,
you don't bother to know it,
i don't share it;
got no reasons to show it
waves upon waves,
blazing brilliant azure
sin walks alive, fractured
and malignant
your lips twitch sinister,
and i find myself enraptured, captured,
fixated
on your voluminous luxe cherry lips
how delicately your tongue slips
god your hands should be here
i need them on my hips
gentle pressure from the very tiptips
is this what it's like,
weightlessness?

each day i see a shade of you,
crimson bled, royal hue
shadows stretch inside my head
while you break the springs of my bed
demons wrestle; my fingers grip your head
i let you create chaos and slay fleeting time
set ablaze, burning alive
i'm paralyzed here in the heat of the day
your toxins thrum on,
zinging through my addict's veins

i think i need to *******
before i'm swallowed whole
a million little pieces suspended,
helplessly on hold,
in a moment, london comes crashing down
and i'm broken, unable to make even
a fraction of coherent sound
you filthy beast, on the prowl
now i'll steal every precious hour
go on and lock me in
your ivory tower
let your hair down, ***** gold as corn
i'm forever yours,
no longer forlon

Fret not in your forlon
fortress for the vultures
will keep you company.
Cloaked in black,they await you.

Taunted by your dreams,you see them dancing around your grave... but alas,it is not your flesh they crave.

It is your wealth they lust after.They scent the gold encircled around your bony,blue fingers.

Humming a chorus of doom,they loom near...
for don't you see?
They find Life in Death.

Claws out,they will strip you clean! So robe yourself in honesty and peer out of your misery.

For a humble sparrow awaits you.

Thou, thou poor sheep of the Lord,
Now that thou art still as a stone,
And to none thou canst not say a word,
To friends of thine all but forlon
As wilted marigold upon a grave,
With eyes melting with saddest tears
Galloping down like as a lonely wave
Doth rove from shores to shores,
May thee know wherever thee wander,
Thy ineffably mellifluous melodies
To our ears shalt always be a wonder,
Pleasantly sweet as of early songbirds
Till by celestial shores we'll meet again,
And there we'll shed a tear nevermore;
For there's no sorrow nor pain
But rivers of mirth forevemore.