Bloody Broken Frames

By Sheen Khurdi

'In the name of the father

In the name of the son,

In the name of the holy spirit.'

His whispers came undone.

With a hand above his head,

The other over his own heart

He prayed to the lord

To fix the child a new start.

The frightened little boy,

Oblivious to this grace

Hung onto each word

Searching for mothers praise;

The lost naive boy,

The frightened young mind

In search of those blue eyes

And the warmth that lay behind

But there was none in sight,

No words to be heard or dealt,

No forlorn voices in echo

From that mother who had left.

With one last prayer,

A pleading from his side

The pastor led the way

Into the boy's new life..

And henceforth, there on,

With the seasons in advance

Upon the rustling winds

His new journey began.

From summer to autumn

From autumn to rain

The mystically pouring snow

The merciless winter remained

The forlorn little boy,

His empty betrayed soul

Grew in a world so wild

Molded from the cold.

With the maternal spirit inert

And the fatherly figure amiss,

He was left with obsolete peace

A soul astray in the abyss.

Those cold blue eyes,

The shade of his mothers.

The dark flimsy curls,

Inheritance from his father

Tortured him all day

And through sleepless nights

Leaving a live corpse

A tormented ghost to fight,

He still remembered the lullaby

The sweet enrapturing voice,

The one that brought sleep

To all his childhood nights,

But that beautiful symphony

Had come to haunt him now

Those kind, comforting words

Racing to push him down,

Reminding him of that night

When blood was shed,

Reminding him of the night

Of his mother's death.

He dreams of her form

Standing behind unwilling doors

Watching her failing spirit

Fighting death on the floor.

He dreams of that sinful knife

Thrust deep in her chest

And the missing spawn of Satan

Leaving everything in unrest

He dreams of watching the pool

Bloody around his tiny feet,

The blood of his fading mother

Flowing tenaciously in defeat..

Oh! It tortured him everyday

It killed him inside,

The image of his mother,

Lying motionless in fright.

He had lost all faith,

Had never been one to gain

And all that remains of him

Is the endless pangs of pain,

The severely, severed tales

The unforgettable days

And mysterious memories

In bloody broken frames..

By Sheen Khurdi