The Submission

Beloved asks to consume or be consumed...

Beloved asks to consume or be consumed…

Leaving him desolated,
perpetually hopeless for
all the possibilities,
yet restless for eternity;
She parted the ways
saying: “You’re in my heart.”

How effectively she turned,
the place he considered his abode,
into his eternal resting place.

After eons of leaving
a last touch on his sarcophagus,
she met him once again,
in the realm of trance.

Resurrecting the dead spirit,
inside the hollow body
she asked,
“why didn’t you say anything…?”

I was too wondering,
why didn’t he stop her from going…
Then I realized he tried.
She didn’t notice.

He wrote her a poem
she’d remember him always with.
His silence…
His submission.

For hearts intertwined,
for lovers deaf, so blind.
Can anyone present
a poem better than that?

I remember he told me once,
he doesn’t love the moon,
the way others do.
He said he wanted to
love the star,
rare enough to
dedicate a life for.

In land of illusions now
both were trying to grasp
the other’s changing face…
new shades emerging in place.

Of what existed between them
the spark got evaporated,
but leftovers settled in,
like deep cravings after
itching of them on frozen body.

Then – Now.
The dream getting realized
under spell of another dream.
Lovers eventually uniting
in the memories.

– Dedicated to lovers submitting to the beloved or forever living love stories; and to happiness that abandons the place, creating a void, leaving nothing but a memory – half of what did happen and half of what could have been.

Lover is bound to its star... It reflects all its intensity & intentions.

Lover bound to its star, reflects all its intensity & intentions.

Image Credits: Super Moon (emilivanov.com and asterisk.apod.com)

16 thoughts on “The Submission

  1. This is really good. There’s something magical about it, that holds one in admiration and thought. Nostalgia, mystical, what else could these things do?
    Then – Now, lovers eventually uniting in memories: that’s where it reaches fulfillment, and that’s what I liked best about this poem.
    You say you realized he had tried…

    Then I realized he tried.
    She didn’t notice.
    He wrote her a poem
    she’d remember him always with.
    His silence…
    His submission.

    I think, it was different.

    He wrote her a poem, true
    but did he mention names?
    Moonlight hints, crossword clues
    he thought she knew them too.
    But alas;
    his diary, full of precious pen strokes
    went unnoticed, and his heart broke
    It wasn’t indifference he was sure…
    It was his test: a fragile, locked door
    Wind brought him back each parchment, letter
    distances decreased, nor improved for any better
    Tip tap fell tears on wounds and scars
    heavens mourned, melted stars-
    He turned around and looked once more
    but she, his beloved, was nowhere before
    Broken he collapsed, hopeless he left
    his heart was all hers, a genuine theft

    She probably meant it when she asked him why he hadn’t said anything. It’s not necessary that she knew what he wanted her to know, submissions need be ‘submissions’.
    Though truly, she did know it. Lines 5 and 6 prove so. Parting ways saying ‘you’re in my heart’ is a brave thing already.
    The dead spirit… the hollow body. I like your descriptions.

    She had walked to where he had once waited
    and had stood there for ages
    wept slow, smiled low, and finally
    burnt herself with the pages.

    “He said he wanted to
    love the star,
    rare enough to
    dedicate a life for.”
    This, the second last stanza and the third last, they’re amazing.

    • Your’s is 500th comment on a blog, and your’s was the first…
      that too after days of silence, with such details, reflection and along a response poem.
      Did I hit a jackpot??

      “She had walked to where he had once waited
      and had stood there for ages
      wept slow, smiled low, and finally
      burnt herself with the pages.”

      I understand the different facets of the story now. I hope he doesn’t ignores them. I hope he looks back again to find the girl too waiting for him. Maybe there’s a world awaiting for them to unite in, something that’s beyond the memories…

      Thank you so much Maria.🙂

    • Beautiful! As if the piece itself was not tragic enough. You add another dimension to the could’ve, would’ve beens. Loved your review!

  2. Somehow this one left me feeling as despondent as the lovers. It was tragic.

    Sometimes words don’t relay what you are trying to convey! Sometimes the words that you think are the right ones are not what the person wants to hear. Sometimes you think you have said enough and still it leaves the other person thirsty; craving fulfillment. Maybe she wanted to see it in his eyes, hear it in his heartbeat, or feel it in his touch…

    The realization how big a loss is comes after the loss has occurred. No amount of tears, memories or repentance can bring it back. Memories will fill the void momentarily but nothing will remain the same. The agony will prevail.

    “Then – Now.
    The dream getting realized
    under spell of another dream.
    Lovers eventually uniting
    in the memories.”

    Intensely tragic.

    • Thank you Huda.🙂
      To keep the piece interesting yet it being honest and tragic I was trying to experiment with Indian style of poetry, that actually treats metaphors as facts. Like the treatment of ‘Moon’ here.
      Also the memories that text is referring to is double entendre, it’s referring to memories of lovers, as well as memories of readers (those of tragic lover stories) that think what could’ve been.
      I know there’s still lot to improve in way to convey these ideas… I hope I keep learning.🙂

      • Dear Ali,
        This was in no way criticism to your style of writing or use of words! Quite the opposite. Somehow i can relate to your style more easily than others. I thank you for that. What i was referring to was

        “He wrote her a poem
        she’d remember him always with.”

        His words.

        I hope you get what I am trying to say now.

        Haha. I think I need a lesson or two in trying to convey my message and be understood!🙂

      • Mam. I think quite the contrary is true… I didn’t think at all that I was being criticized…🙂 I was just confessing that to you that to keep piece tragic, yet interesting I experimented with different style of poetry… It was my submission to the integrity of voice that was brimming inside.🙂

        Come to think of it now… I’m wondering different sort of submissions exist in the world… One where you submit to understand, one where you submit to be understood, and one where you submit to never be misunderstood.🙂

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