Poetry 3: The eyes of Edmund

The Eyes of Edmund Dantes (2007)

The quite hearse of gasp was heard,

A cynic figure of obliviousness – It stood.

And on the dungeon’s bars, his fingers crawled,

As if to feel and see hope – but sadly, its pain and why’s…

Millions of seconds should have passed by then,

And for him each second counts as day,

With all the wondering and of melancholy,

Of lost love, betrayal, and of innocence – Yes! Of innocence…

For that old miserable lightless room, no…that Prison!

Has become an edifice of cries, and sobs, and of curses…Yes, Curses!

For he has done nothing! And nothing! He deserves none of that.

That man, which on the peak of his happiness, has lost it.

And Curses! For his God, he thought, has abandoned him.

And Oh! He bit his lips to stop him swear…

But, the angst and pain inside of him can’t be defied,

And on the thought that he is half insane, smashed his head on the wall!

It bled. The crimson tinted liquid has flown.

And Oh! As if he regained sanity, he sat and wept.

“My Father! My Mercedes!”, he screamed in grief…

For he thought he has lost everything, convinced of his helplessness…

“And Why? Why?! What have I done?!”

For more than ten years he pondered on these thoughts.

Staring at the faceless wall, treating himself like a living corpse

And as if, for  that hellish condition, numbness has plagued his skin…

And at Last! On those years he gained eyes as clear as snow.

An infinite capability to see through haze – to Speak, to think…to rule!

For heaven might have heard those cries and sent another man to die in his grave.

And on this sudden turn of Events – He finally stood to face the sun, He is Free!

No longer on the Deepest shadow of the outcast world,

But on the glorious side of royalty, of the known world…

The man who have hid his eyes on a gray cloud of ignorance,

Emerged with a staggering light of power– but with a dark hand...

A Dark Hand, with an iron grip, to those who have caused him loss..

For the memories of those blackest nights stayed on his eyes…Clear and Unsoiled

And Oh! With the eyes of Edmund Dantes plays God! – Equally!

The all-seeing eye to which everything lays on like the light of day…

“Oh those eyes!”, of vendetta, of revenge, of a living wrath!

“Those Eyes! Your Eyes Sir!” that can pierce with a glance…

For your scream resonates on those glares! And gives shiver to anyone!

“Your eyes Count! You, the Count of Monte’Cristo”…Your Eyes Edmund Dantes…