336th Weekly Poetry Contest winner: Suicide
by Sheikha A.
Forests float – this is not how destiny unravels; somewhere a molecule shifts course, its star-crossed twin repels and the universe loses focus. Chimes ebb louder in the ears; shade-less lamps on streets blink like falling stars, like the night sky dusted its windows and all mysteries through the glass became visible. Then love arrived like a Palladian horse on wings, its rider bearing flute and flowers the colour of sea-born melancholy – like leaves de-stemming from marrow. This story is about a man who merged, crushed his heart in his palms to seeds; galloped on rings of Saturn to liquid cosmos – pool of stars – black like she – on face of the moon he found her wilting, handed his seeds to her and said: it isn't love that survives. We do. First published at Immagine and Poesia in celebration of Dylan Thomas Day.