the key master
[…] there were five tombs,
each colored differently
and feeding the roots of a different flower,
and each sheltering in its womb
the relics of a different word.
‘the keys’ he said, ‘to the tombs’ entrances,
are the fingers of your hand,
one for each door.
beware though – once you start to open them
you must open them all, at any cost’.
his voice was black and holey
and with a shiver i just knew that he was telling the truth.
my first finger erased slowly the dust off the first latch –
the block of stone lowered noiselessly
and the fern bowed under my shadow –
the first word’s ghost, shrouded suddenly in daylight,
came to sit on my quill’s barbs,
docilely sieving its name into my ink.
my finger then turned into sand
and joined the ground covering the fern’s roots.
i swallowed the pain and moved on.
then, in front of the second door,
i pressed my second finger against its frozen surface,
and when a thin layer of icy water
oozed its way along my frostbitten skin,
the bluebells guarding the entrance chinked softly
and the second word’s specter,
poured itself into my ink pot.
liquefied, my second finger flowed down
and was thirstily drunk by the bluebells.
with silent tears on my face, i went further.
the third door asked with honesty
for my offering of flesh –
i was there first of all to seal in blood
my willingness of removing the curtain of flames
protecting the tomb’s secrets.
it was an enigma for me
how the poppies in front of it seemed to actually enjoy
the blaze’s caress…
burned by the third word’s fiery flight,
my third finger mixed its cinder with the flowers opium.
i screamed my agony and crawled on my knees to the next door.
there were yellow lilies at the fourth gate,
and it seemed that whirls of wind were rising
from within each flower’s cup,
joining what resembled a miniature tornado.
resigned, i watched my fourth finger vaporizing,
and suddenly i inhaled the scent of the next word,
marking my lungs with its breath.
i was now rich, owning the first four vocables,
so, ignoring the pain,
i stood up on my feet with pride and went to the last tomb.
the last tomb had no gate – or so i thought.
it was just an indescribable feeling of hollowness
that derived from an inform mass of matter.
but when i pointed with my fifth finger towards that…thing,
the words inside me chained and dragged me into it,
and in my mind the fifth word was born out of nothing.
my finger mattered no more,
my hand mattered no more,
my body and mind and soul mattered no more –
i was the words, and the words were my limbs,
and in their essence i grew roots …[…]
How creative...Oh My, what spills from the mind and heart of a poet...a brilliant write, I enjoyed so much! Dorothy A Poet Who Loves To Sing
I knew this was going to wind up costing you at least and arm and a leg!
enjoyed this one from the beginning till the end. Tfs
Superb!! Thank you so very much Lilly... Particularly I love the finshing lines.... "my finger mattered no more, my hand mattered no more, my body and mind and soul mattered no more – i was the words, and the words were my limbs, and in their essence i grew roots …[…]" Bookmarked ... I have to reread :-) ~ Abhi