“The Doors of Eden.” by Imaan Siddiq

The Doors of Eden.

To what wonder is it,

As I dwell among the blues.

Like an inconsequential shred of disbelief,

For even death remains a recompense,

For the incessant vice of a lost breath.

I can’t seem to fathom the unfaltering sagacity,

That lies like an outcast in this Vale of Tears.

I can’t seem to remain a sane constituent,

Of a disproportionate past,

Or to remain a fading rhapsody in the chatter of mortality.

And in my silent woes,

There remains but no epitome of despotism.

As I am enticed among the ravines of normalcy,

That bleeds into the melanin of my skin,

And shears through my porous existence.

As I descend into this verdant landscape,

It envelopes and blazes like a penitent inferno.

And the life etched into a vanishing resistance,

Fades away in an irrevocable lie of absolution.

As I falter between life and death,

The lines of prepossession blur to me,

Like flurries of humility condescending to the Doors of Eden.

An iota perhaps lost among the constellations,

Or a mortal’s fervour of repentance.

– Imaan Siddiq

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