The Dead Symphony




*Image found HERE

The Dead Symphony

Right past the marble lion heads
that scream out rancid waters,
left from the park
where the homeless sleep and the forsaken survive,
down the alley of barbeque and barber shops –
he heard the mandolin woman wail,
saw an abandoned golden Labrador retriever
lapping their hallelujahs.
In that seraglio of dirt,
cab drivers rushing like rats
towards the luminous cheese of the sky
hiding behind rooftops,
he asks me:
“what is this sound?”
“It is the angels who looked upon their home*
and died.”
I gesture downwards, into the neon,
I tug him into the limbo,
nothing but closed windows to jail us,
nothing but a darkened road up above,
nothing but city lights
to intoxicate us further into life;
the soprano, louder now,
personal desecrations
separating psalms from trance
from grilled meat,
like counting rice;
like stitching hail maries
inside decapitated minds –
hurry, we must venture on
or plead forever
with a god that isn’t there
(every night from 8 to 10 pm).

*This is a refference to one of my favourite and most heartbraking songs called “Pogledaj dom svoj andjele” (Look at your home angel), by Riblja Corba.

~ by Oloriel on August 10, 2015.

17 Responses to “The Dead Symphony”

  1. This is just marvelous.. what a scene.. i love how you paint using the darkest hues and gold.. your voice always sings so strong.

  2. Such a powerful poem… I love the four ending verses as they are truly eloquent and intriguing… All my best wishes to you. Aquileana ~☀ 🌟★🌟 ☀

  3. You have a unique style, and I like the depths that you achieve with it. Thank you!

    • Thank you very much for your words, I do consider my own style or, freedom of expression so to say, a tad bit confussing or perhaps even irking.

      • Irking is good. Freedom is great! Be proud, as you are an artist!

      • Thank you! It just gets me thinking that we often hear that in creating art (applicable in even other areas of life and living) we are often driven by sadness, loss, grief, the need to materialise our pain, but at the same time, we forget that we are so often lead to the pen or the paintbrush by feelings of anger and rage as well.

      • Agree! Rage, outrage, anger, depths of love, heights of love, needs of passion that we are only able to express creatively.
        Look, I love taking pics of Graf… it is a passion hobby. However, as an artist, I have a narrow window of expression at this point, so I use what I can. As shallow as this may seem…. is my art right now & I express therein. Cecil The Lion was my latest outrage, thus is my most recent post of outrage.

      • Oh, not shallow at all, and I admire your tribute greatly! Thank you for sharing your webplace with me, those gowns are gorgeous! Now, I am off to brood over why I quit artschool and plan to afford to get all of your gowns!(cause they are gorgeous, really!)

  4. Ah.. such a powerful verse. Strong imagery. The last few lines are so good. Entrancing and enchanting.
    My favorite bit is: “like stitching hail maries/inside decapitated minds”.

  5. I fall in love with your descriptions every time I visit, I’d like to just sit with you on park bench in the middle of you city, close my eyes and listen to nothing but your words paint colours to its world people rarely notice, and yes, listen to your city and those songs it writes in the dark of night, in the short hours.

    • Thank you very much for the heartwarming comment, Sean! It makes me feel warm inside to know anyone would want to get a glimpse of Belgrade, and even more, through my set of eyes 🙂

  6. Picture left is man eating a man…

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