The Storyteller

Yateer

Sab'a Sita Ethnain
The Storyteller

Once upon a night filled time,
Sounds eluded my distracted hearing.
Occupied with the thought of gaining some rest,
My heart at ease — no longer fearing.

My soul pours out a subtle sigh,
As I drop myself against a wall.
As I drag my rifle towards my side,
Another one drops and again they fall.

I wind my arm to stretch my wound,
The pain like nothing I've previously felt.
The scar on my heart is my truthful witness,
As I undo my holster off of my belt.

Bullets scatter across the floor,
Like the memories dispersed within my mind.
Many stories I hold within my soul,
Some I cherish, and to others I'm blind.

Breathing deeply, my smile remains,
In the face of demise, it is etched in my face.
With my wounded heart I continue to walk,
In a world in which I have no place.

Do they not see the consuming sorrow,
Of the thought of living in a finite world?
Walls are painted with the blood of my brothers,
While souls are content with an eroding pearl.

I begin to gather the scattered bullets,
Regaining myself as they continue to rain.
My desire for death is a desire for freedom,
Away from a place that is only good for pain.

The voices in my mind comfort my soul,
When asking for a companion and nobody stands.
We often speak of loving each other,
Yet the skin of our tongues, differs from our hands.

Tears are left to drain the soul,
Of any happiness that may prevail.
Victims of such, forgotten in time,
A faceless soul with a shrouding veil.

Wounds of the heart are left to fester,
People neglecting their screams of sorrow.
Greed of selfishness pinned to their chest,
Not wanting to give a smile to borrow.

And they asked me why I sought my death?
On a path of a Lord Who possesses the gardens.
Where maidens await and rivers flow,
Where my sins, no more—my Lord, He pardons.

Where sorrow is unheard of,
And tears are not seen.
Where love is forever,
And the meadows so green.

Others have passed with similar stories,
Of a vision of history that is filled with chains.
I wonder now, if their wings are unchained,
Forgetting the world that had caused their pains.

I haven't narrated a specific story,
But are we not all misplaced in the world?
The prison of a believer yet the paradise of others,
How sad a paradise — an eroding pearl.

Darkness shrouds where I rest for now,
Light only illuminating from the bombing around.
Yet their sounds elude my distracted hearing,
Listening to the the voices in my mind that sound.

Once upon a night filled time,
I sat there hoping to gain some rest.
Never did I find it in the surrounding world,
Instead, it laid in my wounded chest.
 
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