Via Dolorosa, di Malak Alrashed

Via Dolorosa

Angels or demons?

Demons— must it be

Had a place in my head

They build it;

Stone by stone

To atone—they said.

Far behind the prayers and the olive trees

Hidden in burdens and tears.

There—

The House of the Madness they called it.

I look upon its hideous wall: a mural for the sick

Not a foothold.

Not a prayer.

Voices I hear, crumbles at the wall

(Silence the mad, only then you will be glad—

Climb the path of sorrows by morrow)

My flesh is weak, I pray

My head’s a wreck, I say

Lunatics and mad broke the wall

Spirit-wolf—I clamber.

Out of the shadow of trees

Head out of east.

Thrown, a hundred,

Stoned, a hundred more.

Engulfed in mires,

Skin burned of fires.

A crown of thrones

For the times I have been thrown.

A top of mud! A top of mud!

At last!

Mother, Goddess,

Out of your womb, pure pearls of water drops,

I saw light.

Let me see darkness again. I pray.

For they are killing me—

Feeding me galls for my hunger;

And acid for my thirst

A first, a second and a third—

I prayed while they mocked me.

I am among the mad—

Mad.

A kiss of a disciple:

I’m bound. Carried above the house of the mad.

They sat a fire

A mirage is all I see—

Voices of those before I

Stood before my eye:

I saw the victims, the poor, the sad ones

All—before I.

Mother, Goddess,

Save me.

Flames are coming up to my chest

I hear thy voice not

Only the mad.

The mad and the lunatics.

Where are thou?

Mother,

Hadn’t thy breast suckled me,

Darkness and empty I would’ve been—

Hadn’t thy hands carried me,

A part of the earth I would’ve been.

Mother of Goddess,

Let it end. Burry me in mud and ashes.

A mirage is all I see—

Then comes the darkness of the whiteness.

Not a foothold, not a soul.

Doves’ voices erasing the mad’s chaos,

Water washing my burns, my sins

I never dreamt that I could dream

A washed body towards the stream

It is the final sphere

I am. I am.

Anew. Complete. Ready—

To sin again.

Alone in the white, doves and swans

I came before I was due;

I swam not in the stream for I was sinking.

Swans swimming, birds signing.

I flew. Out. Under.

Third day after the rise,

I still hear the voices of the victims, the poor, the sad ones and mine.

Only now I know;

How to mute my abandoned echoes.

Swans swam, doves molted me feathers

It’s all been forgiven:

Not a sound, not a whisper

Writing the madness is how I whimper.

Robert L. Martin

Wow! That was passionate. I felt like I was brawling inside the mind

Malak Alrashed

Thanks a lot, Robert. You don't know how much your comment cheered me up.

Wow .... Just wow .... Uh for one I read that you said "I would never call myself a poet" psh I think you absolutely can and should ..because you go beyond .... I call myself a poet ..nothing special ..it does not mean I think I'm great and should be a famous poet or be seen as one the greats ... Ha not even close.. I wish..But I do Put words together and rhyme and write from the soul...and to me that's all a poet is ... And you do that and tons more just with this poem.... Your an incredible writer with just the few things I've seen so far... Deep and had a certain dim or dark feel even if it isn't you know "dark" it's exactly how I like them .... But aside from anything I like ...your style is intricate and unique ..This poem was fascinating ... I follow you now :) I'll definitely be reading more ... Sorry my comments are always long... But I never comment unless I mean every word ...this site is full of great poets and your a great addition ...

Malak Alrashed

God, C.R. Stranger. If only you could know the amount of energy you have given me through you words. Thank you so much for saying that. And I'm honored. Really. And you're an incredible writer and a very kind person. I changed my profile now XD it's not that I would call myself a poet, but nothing is more annoying than an aspiring writer undermining herself. Thanks a lot.

C.R.Stanger

Ha your welcome of course a poem like this needs to be commended I mean I really really liked it and I doubt Ill be the only one and I doubt it's just because the subject matter is something I love .. It's just a good one it flows and moves me inside and that's a success for any poet to me...anyways here I go again writing a book instead of a comment..But I hope I didn't sound bossy by saying you could def. call yourself a poet because I know exactly what you mean when you say that..I did it too forever then I was like well.... I craft words together so I guess it's ok I call myself that ... But I just had to let you know your def. a poet..... Isn't it funny I abbreviate the word definatley? why ? because I honestly can't spell it right ... And I guess I'm to lazy to Look it up ... Like really? Hehe ..Who knows maybe I got it right that time ...

Malak Alrashed

@C.R.Stanger: I'm out of words. Being read by such a talented writer like yourself. Thanks. And don't worry. I am the laziest person ever and I know how irritating it is. The word. Ugh; it is the most misspelled word. So we shouldn't feel bad claiming to love writing and still face spelling issues? XD Check this: http://www.d-e-f-i-n-i-t-e-l-y.com/

Maureen Adams Bailey

Love

J Ann Crowder

Very unique style. This is definitely your own. When you've found yourself as a writer keep going. This is what captivates the reader.

Malak Alrashed

Thanks! I will surely try.

Robert L. Martin

I love the imagery and language. You draw me into the story that reminds me of the "Book of Revelations."

Malak Alrashed

It is very much inspired by that, indeed. Thanks a lot for your comment.

The Verse

God such a good fucking flow throughout the poem. This trek through the underworld reminds me more of the Inferno from Dante's Divine Comedy rather than of Jesus' trek to the crucifixion. I guess the biggest reference to that would be the line "three days after the rise" which actually would mean six days after the death for Jesus then, right? The house of madness was perhaps the most intriguing part of the poem. At least it was for me. Second would be the repeated calls to the mother, goddess. I wonder what is her name? Anyway great job. Oh, just f.y.i. our fellow poet friend is C.S. Stanger, not Stranger. I know, very common mistake lol

Malak Alrashed

Thanks! I love Dante! By three days after the rise, I was referring to the Resurrection of Jesus; "On the third day, he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures". You can find lots of references; the olive trees, for example, are a reference to the Garden of Gethsemane, Crown of Thrones, and a kiss of a disciple...etc. Also, it's not necessarily Jesus himself narrating the poem. Jesus could be a metaphor for the idea of allowing or rather choosing your own crucifixion. The narrator, here, has been ascended to heaven and yet she came back to complete her duty and finally listen to what the House of the Mad was echoing. The House of the Mad is also a metaphor. Could be a place for both pain and creativity. It could be whatever kills you and tempts you at the time. It's the sounds of your head, it's what walks under your flesh.. asking you to listen. The mother? Like everything, it's open to interpretations. I might be very interested in the feminization of the deities, or she might be calling her mom, simple as thar.. or perhaps it's Virgin Mary. Who knows really. Also, I'm sorry @C.R.Stanger. XD Thanks for correcting me. I tend to invent names.

Imrogue

This is awesome! thanks for posting!

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