The Birth

I had a dream few weeks ago where a strange scene played out in vivid detail.
I got up and penned half of this poem immediately. The rest of it took excruciatingly long to write and I nearly gave up. Well, a splash of dark mood churned out the rest tonight.
A little long, a bit rough and a few days late!

The Birth

The smoky moon and the dust-grey clouds
On a somber march in the starless sky.
Death pale beams light a parched earth’s crust
Unearthing bones that scream out “Why”.

A scorching wind like the dragon’s breath,
Is born in the bosom of the dark mountains west.
Bringing a hint of burning metal, of flesh,
And faint whispers of souls that never rest.

A rumble erupts turning into a roar,
And out leaps a train with a blazing mane.
Speeding on tracks that have long been gone,
Lurching and scarring the barren plain.

The virgin lies sprawled on the rusty floor,
Pregnant with life from spring unknown.
The swelling grows with impatient life,
Clutching her belly she lets out a moan.

In the orange glow of the burning train
The dead army rises like mist from mire.
Lusting for blood they rush for the feast,
Swarming the train and fanning the fire.

The train shudders as the beasts crawl all over,
Slaves to the Dark Lord, with hearts of lead.
The voice of their master booms loud in their ears:
“Before his first breath, he must be dead!”

Warm droplets roll down her knotted brows,
As she heaves and pushes with her knees wide.
Gripping the blooded head, she coaxes the life,
With a yank and a tear she lays him aside.

Wide-eyed and cold lying in the rust,
The babe divine, swaddled in blood.
“Breathe my dear, breathe my child,”
“May the night with your cries be flood.”

The army stands a whisper away. The voice
In them grows shriller now “Go for the kill!”
The mother continues to stroke the child,
Murmuring those soft prayers still.

It was almost as though all was lost
When this strange glow did spread.
The infant shone like the naked sun,
And the beasts trembled with dread.

The scorching light grew big and bright
A mushroom of mountain height.
Engulfing the beasts, the train, the bones,
It turned each to ashes white.

The land with mountains that yore was dark,
Now bathes in holy light.

The stars come out of their hiding,
And in unison they sing:

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.


Iyer