Tag Archives: dark poetry

A Dialogue with the Mirror

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‘You wretched beast, you pitiful ghoul’ —the cruelest conversations are the ones we have with ourselves.

An intense, confrontational poem structured as a dialogue between the speaker and their mirror reflection, exploring the painful disconnect between outward appearance and inner reality. Through powerful metaphors of shattered mirrors, extinguished suns, and lightning-struck trees, this raw verse examines the masks we wear and the darkness we hide.

You! Yes you – you wretched beast!

perhaps you are me or just another priest

Trying to creep and trying to crawl,

within my sad existence, a great, dark hall

Trying to wear and trying to see,

my skin, through eyes silent as the dead sea

You! Yes you, you pitiful ghoul!

perhaps you are wise or just an old fool

Don’t try to understand my twisted life,

a tree struck by lightning, yet playing the fife 

I stand strong and mighty, towering over all,

strength is what I feign, in the end I will fall  

You! Yes you, you pathetic creature!

perhaps you are true or just a damn preacher

Don’t try to love my tired and broken soul,

I look like a knight and inside, I am just a troll

I am but a mirror, shattered into a million shards,

keeping you all blind, I always hide my cards

You! Yes you, you faded, grey wraith!

perhaps you are ignorant or just acting on faith

Don’t try to be kind, with empathy on a roll,

a sun with extinguished fires, I am a lost soul

My sins were all black, they spoke of my desires,

my regret is now cold, just ashes and burnt pyres

The Prophet and the Devil

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Introduction

A haunting narrative poem exploring the eternal struggle between light and darkness within the human soul. This introspective piece delves into themes of moral duality, spiritual conflict, and the coexistence of prophet and devil in one person. Through vivid imagery of pain, redemption, and self-reflection, the poem examines how opposing forces of kindness and temptation shape our existence. Perfect for readers seeking deep philosophical poetry about human nature, internal battles, and the complex relationship between good and evil that defines the human experience.

Constantly walking down a dark alley of pain,

a cold path, leading to no loss and no real gain

He walks alone; he has always been walking alone,

each step is an agony, but he doesn’t groan or moan

He stops for a moment to take a tired breath;

thinking of his sad existence and a pitiful death

He sees a man sitting and leaning forward,

he doesn’t move, his posture so awkward

Brains blown out, there is silence in the hall,

no commotion, just blood splashed on the wall

His dead eyes, motionless, clouded and sallow,

that man is him, a life so deep and a death so shallow

Who were you really? He asks the dead man,

What did you really want? What was your clan?

Pulls onto his own hair matted with blood and brain,

he sees himself smile, though in actual he is slain

I was the product of imagination, the darkest of them all,

pain, sorrow, and suffering, an amalgamation of them all

Slowly cooked and roasted upon the fire of circumstances,

I took every risk and I availed all the chances

I hung myself all through my life, on the cross of desire,

my guilt and my regrets, lighting a damn big fire

My body laughed so hard, while my soul slowly bled,

the nails of remorse drawing blood, dark and red

I wore the crown of pleasure, dancing the dance of senses,

each conquest was glory, no qualms, no mending fences

But it was a crown of thorns, my soul writhed in pain,

and on the cross of desire, my character was finally slain

I was a prophet, I was the devil, the contrast burnt so bright,

the devil on the left always, and the prophet on the right

Kindness was the prophet’s domain; he ruled it so well,

sensuality was the devil’s game; he played it in hell

The prophet held hands and fanned the flames of life,

the devil played his flute and sharpened his sinful knife

The prophet bowed in humility, acknowledging his bounds,

the devil laughed in shadows and made his daily rounds

They were opposite in nature, but they shared a core,

crying over a broken heart, weeping for a whore

But when tired of crying, they both walked the earth,

in search of some joy, in search of some mirth

The devil broke some hearts, the prophet mended souls,

the devil stole some dreams, the prophet filled some holes

The devil caused some chaos, the prophet preached some order,

but the prophet stayed behind, while the devil crossed the border

Then they both sat together and wept and cried some more,

the prophet on his throne and the devil on the floor

The prophet told the devil that they had different fates,

the devil smiled and offered, ‘No, we are soul mates’

The dead fell silent and chose to speak no more,

he only thought in silence, shaken to the core

There was a dichotomy, though he always knew,

that it was no stark, he had no clue

He was two, not one, that was the only fact,

the prophet and the devil, it was a strange pact

He looked ahead and started to walk again,

the prophet and the devil, in the dark alley of pain

Self-flagellation: The Last Highway out of Hell

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This is not redemption—it is penance without absolution.

________________________

He whips himself, he whips himself very hard,

his silent screams, hiding behind an ugly grimace

The cat-o’-nine-tails screams like a mad banshee,

the knots striking in a frenzy, a blood thirsty race

Each lash is a tribute, a homage to a specific memory,

a black hole in the whole black and vast space of life

Each stroke exposes a white pulsating nerve,

a silver snake writhing under a very sharp knife

________________________

He hurts himself, he hurts himself so real bad,

drawing crimson patterns across his naked back

The skin breaks, and ruby drops appear one by one,

thickening, congealing, stinking, and turning black

The flow of blood sometimes turns into a rivulet,

drops transforming into streams, streams into creeks

Crimson spatters his bent shoulders and the spine,

tracing the paths of pain and the punishment it seeks

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He makes himself suffer; he suffers for very long,

feeling the whip slither within the stinking, thick slush

The skin is no more, his back is all but raw flesh,

but his overpowering regret, the whip fails to crush

‘Oh! Why do you punish, why do you hurt yourself?’

the Devil asks him with a mockingly soft sympathy

And God, He just turns his face away in disgust,

there is no place for him in His great hall of empathy

________________________

‘I walk the path of pain, I have chosen it for myself,’

he answers and grips the whip firmly and caresses it

‘I penalize myself, I pass each judgment harshly,

I condemn myself; the fire of misery is always lit

Self-flagellation is my penance for sins so many or few,

it is a dark journey, and I have been travelling ever since

Self-flagellation is the last highway out of my own hell,

while my soul burns in agony, I remain the exiled prince’

The Stranger in the Mirror (Previously, Man in the Mirror)

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He’s convinced ‘his coming was an error’ that needs correcting without delay—this is what severe depression sounds like when it talks to itself in the mirror.

A harrowing poem structured as instructions to confront the stranger in your own reflection—a man consumed by self-hatred, failed dreams, and the conviction that his departure would strengthen those he leaves behind.

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Go look at him, look at his pale face in the mirror,

how loathsome it is and yet so strangely dear

Look at him for long, and observe very closely,

and find on it quietly lurking, a dark, crippling fear

The fear of failed dreams and the fear of total loss,

of a life utterly failed, and a death by greed’s spear

________________________________________________________

Go talk to him, talk to his dark face in the mirror,

with all of its passive and violent aggression

Talk to him for long, and listen with patience,

you will hear his final words, his ugly confession

From where did he come, and where will he go,

he will speak of darkness, and his cold depression

________________________________________________________

You hate him with a vengeance, the man in the mirror,

you look at him with vile pity, you feel utter disgust

You are sickened by what he has now become,

no principles, no morality, and a lack of total trust

You are offended by the choices that he has often made,

there is just reigning chaos, the scorching wind, and dust

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You are so disappointed in him, the man in the mirror,

you do not hope for miracles; there will be no redemption

You witness his devastation, his fate is not to blame,

he is dissolving fast, an intentional self-destruction

He is being blown away by the cruel gusts of time,

spite, self-loathing, dejection, and also some rejection

________________________________________________________

Go question him, go ask the man in the mirror,

Does he really have to leave? There is no other way?

And he will tell you no, staying is no longer an option,

the sky is overcast, the clouds all heavy and grey

He has to leave now; his coming was an error,

without any hesitation, without the slightest delay

________________________________________________________

Go tell him now, go tell the man in the mirror,

there are those, who need him to stay a little longer

And he will tell you no, he has to say his farewell,

his absence will be hurtful, but it will make them stronger

He has always lived like this, braving all his pains,

and they will live so too, no fear, they won’t conquer

Mary and the Dark Mother

Posted in Poetry English by
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⚠SUICIDE WARNING: “‘Come lay with the Dark Mother, her coldness is the warmth you seek’—a poem making visible how depression seduces as a loving voice offering peace through death.”

___________________________________________________________

Come and visit the Dark Mother, Mary,

she is the only one who truly loves you

Her pure wisdom has always been there,

to you and only you, she will always be true

___________________________________________________________

Come embrace the Dark Mother, Mary,

in her lap, you are going to find lasting peace

Her love will make you whole once again,

it will mend each crack, it will join each piece

___________________________________________________________

Come and bow to the Dark Mother, Mary,

and she will tell you, it’s useless to go on

Her hand caressing your tired and bent head,

and she will whisper, ‘there is no true dawn’

___________________________________________________________

Come seek the Dark Mother’s counsel, Mary,

and she will differentiate love from courtesy

Her logic is immaculate and unquestionable,

when she tells you love is not real, but a fallacy

___________________________________________________________

Come hear the Dark Mother’s prophecy, Mary,

when she tells you, ‘you are doomed forever’

But don’t lose hope, all may seem grey and dark,

her solutions are always simple, never clever

___________________________________________________________

Come and listen to the Dark Mother, Mary,

when she tells you, it is your time to sleep

Her words are the writing on the wall,

when she tells you not to cry and weep

___________________________________________________________

Come lay with the dark mother, Mary,

her coldness is the very warmth you seek

Surrender yourself and take the final step,

just forget that you were once a freak

___________________________________________________________

Come and follow the Dark Mother, Mary,

be assured, she always knows the right way

Bringing sanity to this damn circus of chaos,

she’s the peaceful night at the end of your day

___________________________________________________________

Come do what the dark mother says, Mary,

sleep is just a small, harmless bullet away

Just please cross the threshold, Mary,

salvation is only just a steel’s kiss away