The Fading Into The Oblivion.
I could smell the fresh fragrance,
that delicate and comforting scent,
the ubiquitous perfume of these ephemeral aromas
of the pastries which mother used to bake for me.
I could hear the appealing voice,
that silvery and modulated tone,
the adventurous wits of these idiosyncratic sounds
while father talks to me during that road trip.
I could taste the passionate essence of life,
that intense and enlightening caress,
the elusive softness of this forbidden fruit
shared with my first love’s invigorating lips.
I could see the obnoxious nature of the past,
that hateful and grotesque legacy,
the depressive truth about a culture of coercion
witnessed through one of my sentient histories.
I could feel the might for nothing,
that empty and bloodied touch of death,
the dismayed pain of the shadowed heroics of darkness
as I, revengefully, fell into the slithery void of bleak nonexistence.
Sayyad Sheriff writes from Mauritius. He works as a team leader for a high end branded store and has a passion for the study of films, culture and psychoanalysis, which influences his literary pieces, with an underlying theme: chaos.