Dramatic Verse

Vetala

~ Iyan Igma

You think that my heart is cold;
Have you thought to ask why?
My heart is but fullerite.
Vengeance is my ally.

I was crazy for your love.
I loved your affection.
But I became more insane
At the first detection
Of your villainous treason.
Hate was an infection.

I caught him. In the tussle
My spirit left its dorms,
Evicted to seek a place
In its bodiless form.

You knew that I’d seek revenge,
Despite my Atman’s karma.
Under these circumstances
I’ll ignore the Dharma.

How can I be standing here?
This corpse should be rotten.
Cadavers don’t rot when they’re
Of my power begotten.

You marvel at my tattoos?
They’re burned into my skin.
I had to rid my presence
Of worms wriggling within.

My sockets have no eyeballs,
Because I went insane
And gouged them out with my nails.
They were a meal arcane.

You think these holes can’t see you;
But, if it’s all the same,
They’re far from blind or empty,
For they are lit with flame.

They can see through anything.
Your spirit has black spots.
It pierces me to think that
Once I cherished you lots.

Seeing all, I see that you
Never cared about me.
I was just a trifling thing
You liked infrequently.

I’m here to do some mischief;
I’ve been drawn by your musks.
Do not fear for your lover,
His ribs are now my tusks.

I crushed them, sending pieces
Into his lungs and heart.
Ere he died he knew my name.
I ripped his chest apart.

With his broken ribs I gashed
His precious face to shreds.
It doesn’t matter, for you
Would never kiss the dead,
And I’ll have no kiss from you.
Why do you stare at my head?

Is it because there’s no hair?
I scalped the whole mess off.
What’s left’s a bleeding abscess.
I’ve ne’er been one for boffs,

But this joke is so precious
To see you trembling there
Aghast at your bald man
Who later scalped his hair.

Why, darling you always said
You liked a man who’s bald.
Why does my sight frighten you?
You’d think your heart had stalled.

But that it will soon enough.
You’ll meet my sharpened ribs’ tusks
That will take off your skin like
Fresh corn’s silky husks.

There’s no mantra to save you
From the forces trapped in
The hideous, moribund
Corpse I take refuge in.

Should you even attempt it,
Another one I’ll take.
For I won’t be satisfied
Until your neck I break.

Soon I’ll leave this body
When my mischief has spread,
And Fate finds you dismembered,
Mangled up, maimed, and dead.

The Narcissist’s Fate

~ Iyan Igma

I asked my love to stay with me,
Because dusk would soon bring the night.
But she wouldn’t understand how
Grave at gloaming was her plight.

For I had lost another love
As the moon began soaring high.
I couldn’t rush to protect her
Because a curséd soul am I.

For when the dusk melts away in
The firm, unyielding grasp of night,
Satan has me in his power,
And I’m a weakling of a wight.

Yea, with day’s light ebbs my strength, and
I am condemned that I should die,
If I should ever venture out
Beneath the moon’s all-watchful eye.

I am no vampire nor werewolf.
Indeed, I am not nocturnal,
For no creature of the night’s
Received a hex so infernal.

For a witch’s spell’s bound to me
For rejecting her advances,
That now by night shall perish all
Of my flings and true romances.

I should have seen her as she was,
The soul that’s jealously cursed me
That I might never have true love,
To remain dreadful and lonely.

But how can I tell my love
That she is in mortal danger?
For every second she stays here
She thinks I’m a little stranger.

Perhaps she believes that my pleas
But mask my carnal appetite.
Since she won’t be entreated, I
Tell her, “Make haste while there’s still light.”

I know now as I close the door
That I may never again see
The vision I was wont to hold
Like an angel in Jubilee.

On the morrow I rise early,
Hoping against my hope I’d see
Her whole and healthy like heralds
Welcome banners with fleur-de-lis.

“Isn’t it strange,” the healer said,
Lancing away at rancid boils,
“That the troll has taken her so
Quickly that all her beauty spoils?

He’s given her pneumonia, too.
I’ll have to bleed the monster out.”
As he slit her arms green blood oozed
Like slime from a clogged water spout.

“You’d better call a priest in, son,
To give her the Extreme Unction.
I’m not sure how much longer her
Body’ll be able to function.”

With the anguish of the guilty,
I ran to find our local friar.
But I found the abbey empty
Because he’d traveled from our shire.

And now my lovely love suffers,
And she’ll die without the Last Rites.
The witch has hindered her soul’s fate,
Just like my happiness she blights.

They take her corpse far out of town
With neither rosemary nor sage
To douse the smell nor flowers to
Line her grave. Nothing will assuage

My filthy conscience nor the rage
That reins supreme now in my breast;
It’s the witch’s fault that her heart’s
Stationary within her chest.

I dread to think of wooing
This cruel witch whose heart is pitch black,
But that might be the only way
To get vengeance and freedom back.

I will go down to her grotto.
I’ll court this wicked witch from hell,
And soon enough I’ll be released
From the taint of this hellspawn’s spell.

“Finally come for me, love?”
Questioned the sorceress’s croon,
As she looked up from where she sat
Eating the brains of a baboon.

“I have, my lady,” I answered.
“I knew eventually this day
Would come, and though warts cover my
Skin, you would look the other way.”

“What has happened to your beauty?”
She replied, “Magic has its price.
Looks are a petty sacrifice
For power,” She said scratching lice.

“You’ve heard the rumor, and it’s true,
That a witch must give demons suck.
They latch on my warts and feast on
My beauty like it were a duck,

And when they have drained all of it,
They then feed on my emotions.
But I take from them the art of
Runes, mysticism, and potions.”

A zealous light glowed in her eye;
Insanity rotted her mind.
The delirium of black arts
Had her once pure soul much maligned.

Once she was considered pretty;
She doted on my every wish.
But she would never have my heart,
Since I had given it to Trish.

“Then shall we try our love anew?”
She asked, never fearing that worse
Would chance. “I’d like that, but I
Can’t love someone who does me curse.”

“Give your word that you’ll love me, should
I now release you from the spell.”
“You have it and my heart.” This vow
Later made me fain be in hell.

As soon as her incantation
My previous enchantment broke,
She rushed to my arms for a hug
She ne’er received, for I did choke

Her with all the vengeance
Pent up inside from my losses.
When she stopped flailing, I released.
She collapsed atop the mosses

That covered the dank floor where she
Had taken refuge in despair.
Her body began to smolder;
There was a violent blast of air.

And though she’d died, her words echoed
Deep within my mind, “Man that I
Loved, though thou hast no feelings or
Compassion in thy heart or eye,

Thou shalt no longer have body
Or form, thou narcissistic wretch,
Now never shall thy sinister
Looks another fragile heart catch.

Love shall never more be thine, and
Never again shall thy lips kiss.
Thou shalt live forever as thou
Art; thou shalt never have true bliss.

Thou shalt be a shadow of a
Man, a shade that cannot expire,
For thou wast not able to love.
Only those who love can retire

To the realms of the dead, for they
Are the only ones who lived. Thou
Never hadst true love, thus ne’er
Lived. There is no hope for thee now.

Thou shalt be without a love to
Love thee, without a true warm vein.
Thou hast caused me to be a witch,
Ergo, thou must now go insane.

Thou shalt surely pass from one form
To another, and e’er exist
Without life, death, pleasure, and love;
And on shadows shalt thou subsist.

Thou shalt ne’er have company in
Hell, where I belong for my crimes.
But Hell shall be more pleasant than
Thy “life,” as thou shalt see betimes.

It pains me, and I repent for
‘Twas not the girls’ fault thou didst pine
For their affection and spurn mine.
They did nothing; the fault is thine.

Guilt harrows my soul for having
E’er those innocents afflicted
With plague and ague and death, and not
Having thine own neck constricted.

Thy vanity caused me to be
A witch and brought this curse on all
Of us—your girls, yourself, and me.
Thy pride hast engineered our fall.

Thus thou shalt pass eternity
Alone and unable to die.
Thou shalt be a mere figment, an
Imagination of the eye.”

As the wind and her words faded,
My form began to melt away.
In trembling horror I became
A shadow cursed to ne’er see day.

There were others I had courted
Before, but they forgot my name.
The society I once loved
Never looked upon me again,

For they saw only a shadow
That tickled their cursed memory.
I would haunt forever without
Love’s blessings. I was emery,

And daylight was my cruel torture
That kept me from having free reign
Of motion. By night I traveled,
Seeking beauties in my domain.

Through the darkness I would creep to
Their beds and stoop to give a kiss.
But my presence they would sense, and
Their lamps would seek what was amiss.

My victims kept the witch’s curse
In efficacy alway.
It’s a shame; I was quite handsome
Before she took my form away.

We’ve Been Waiting

~ Iyan Igma

How long has it been since I’ve come
To this town that was once my home?
Have six years really passed away?
It feels just like it were a day.
The lightning illuminated
This settlement so sedated.
I wonder if it’s me that’s changed,
Or this town from which I’m estranged.
I presume we are both guilty,
Surely that’s why it’s so ghostly.
The Sawyer’s roof has fallen in.
Most homes don’t seem to be lived in.
No steam is rising from the mill
That several city blocks does fill.
Broken glass marks where windows were.
I thought I saw a darting blur.
But no one seems to move about,
And all the power has gone out.
But that’s nothing more than this storm.
It’s time to find that ever warm
Greeting I know I will receive
From mom and dad, for I believe
That they’ll be shocked by my surprise
Visit. My how time quickly flies.
Have the pears ripened in the grove?
What feast’s mom cooking on the stove?
Will dad be sitting in his chair?
Is there less color in their hair?
Have their glasses grown much thicker?
Do they still playfully bicker?
Has mom done more embroidery?
Does dad still play the lottery?
A million questions, maybe more,
Followed me till I reached their door.
The lights were out, and no one came
To the door. I called them by name
As I entered. This door’d never
Been locked in my whole life. Howe’er,
No one responded to my calls.
I wandered through the dusty halls,
Groping and fumbling in the dark.
No one was home; the air was stark
And musty. Where would they have gone?
I wandered to the telephone
Where I’d called them the week before.
As I reached it, I heard a door
Bang shut, though it could have been a
Shutter. I asked, “Who’s there?” Dismay
Was my only reply. I picked
Up the receiver. Something clicked
In the hall, and I turned my head,
Realizing that the line was dead.
The storm must have knocked out the lines.
There was the sound of a fork’s tines
Screeching down a metal surface.
I rushed to see what was the fuss.
But there was nothing I could see,
Since the light was obscurity.
I sought the kerosene lantern,
And as the wick began to burn
I was grateful to have the light,
Since darkness can produce a fright
Of harmless shadows and nonsense,
Despite your age or competence.
Great solace comes from believing
In naught because you see nothing.
My valor came by lantern fire
And convinced my mind to inquire
Into the noises heard of late,
Though my heart would fain liquidate
Its assets while it’s still ahead.
I scoffed at my ungainly dread,
And walked about my old dwelling
To spite Phobos for its swelling.
Though the light played tricks with my eyes,
I unmasked the dark’s each disguise.
There was nothing lurking about.
I decided to wait them out.
They’d return perhaps tomorrow.
Tired, I went upstairs to borrow
The room which I had occupied
When as a lad I did reside
Here. A lightning bolt told me the
Room was empty, the bed neatly
Made, like an oyster dredged from the
Sea to rip apart messily.
I set the light on the dresser
Old as Edward the Confessor.
Lying down in lilac perfume,
Nature called me from the bathroom.
Intent that I would not betray
Its confidence, I made my way
Down the corridor to its door.
The darkness hid the changed decor
That mom had mentioned months ago.
A sudden gust of wind did blow,
Turning the flame into a glow
That died, making the pitch pall grow.
Did it suffer from some malaise?
Then, chillbumps on my flesh did raise,
And my hair stood on its end
As terror began to descend
On me. I didn’t understand,
Till I saw a dark figure stand
Directly in front of my face.
My feet seemed bolted fast in place.
I knew that this must be a ghost.
To my soul it gave quick riposte,
“My son, we’ve waited long for you.”
“Dad?” I thought, ‘Is this really you?’
The door slammed behind me and locked;
My escape route had now been blocked.
He lifted me from off my feet;
Forcefully he began to beat
Me ‘gainst the walls. The mirror broke.
Ethereal fingers did choke
Me. I’m sure that my neck was bruised,
I blacked out as the pain suffused
Through my body. When I came to,
All that I could smell was mildew.
Rising carefully to my feet,
I wondered what ghost would then greet
Me. Why had dad been so violent?
It must be a malevolent
Spirit and not him, because he
Always acted pacifically.
What had happened to my parents?
They’d never been so aberrant.
Had this home and whole town been cursed?
I couldn’t help but fear the worst.
Has he really locked me in my
Closet? This would be no Versailles
Where I’d wait for impending doom.
I made too much noise in the gloom
As I burst through the slatted door.
The ghost returned with many more.
They advanced from the window’s side,
Calling for my blood and hide.
As the door closed, I bolted through.
Downstairs I could smell mom’s beef stew,
But I had no appetite now.
I would be in it anyhow.
Leaping down the stairs franticly,
Mom’s fine China crashed into me.
Papers flew in a tempest’s gust,
Scorching me when they would combust
On contact. My singed hair reeked. Dim
Pain gave way to adrenaline.
I could hear the chairs as they slid
Intensely. Running like I did
When I was a kid, I reached
The hall. It seems a banshee screeched,
But I held quickly to my soul.
Where I’d just stood there was a hole.
The wall was riddled with mom’s knives.
I was a cat with fewer lives.
The grandfather clock doubled me
Over, but I arose to flee.
The front door was getting close, and
Then I was pinned by a book stand.
“Why are you running from us, son?”
He asked, like Attila the Hun
Gazing on the Roman Empire
Or Gaul as he set them afire,
Confused at why they squirmed about
With their hideous screams and shouts.
“Aren’t you happy to see your dad?
We gave you everything you had.
Now, there’s one thing that you can give
To us so that we too may live.”
I was too horrified to speak,
And I heard the wall begin to creak.
Where one knife was lodged deep in the
Wall, it struggled to become free.
Trapped by the shelf and mesmerized
By its movements, I realized
That I would never leave this home,
Despite the fact that I was grown.
The spirits advanced, and the knife
Flew at me. I fainted. My life
Would have surely come to an end.
The pain woke me, since I’d been skinned
On my legs, arms, and abdomen.
Nothing within my blurry ken
Could I see besides mom’s stew pot.
It was boiling, but I could not
Discern what was cooking inside.
I feared that it would be my hide.
There were no ghosts that I could see,
So I ran away to be free
From the place that had enslaved me
With bonds so violent and ghostly.
The front door’s handle wouldn’t turn.
It was never locked! Fear did burn
Within me, thus I jumped right through
The window, glass and all, into
The sick birth of a twisted dawn.
I had no time to hurt or fawn
About, for shapes did appear
On the porch of the house once dear
To me for childhood’s sake. They chased
Me slowly until dawn erased
Their figures, and I had returned
To a world where spirits sojourn
As spectators without power.
The old ghost town seemed to glower
At me as I hobbled away.
Though atheist, I felt to pray.
The phenomenon that I’d seen
Had changed my view of everything.
As I approached the bus stop, there
Was a faint rustling in the air.
I could almost hear my name called,
As the words touched me, they did scald
My body’s many open wounds.
My ankle was just then harpooned
By a fist clutching from the ground.
Their grave sites I seemed to have found.
I tried to kick the dead hand off,
But I just heard a sandy scoff.
Many are rising from the soil,
Hoping that they might later boil
My flesh that they might feed on me.
Like a voracious wolf pack prowls,
They circle me. I hear their growls.
A slimy fiend steps from the pack
Whose recognition makes me back
Away in fear. This perfidy
Must be the greatest tragedy,
For my decaying mom stood there.
“Son, you shall not go anywhere.”
“But mom, I thought that you loved me.”
She replied, “‘Memento mori.’
What did old Zachariah say
About families in our day?”
My heart sank like a boat anchor
Since families were to canker
By rancor, and love would perish
Since parents no longer’d cherish
Their inheritance of the Lord,
Which they would run through with the sword.
Years ago mom was perplexed how
This could be. She seemed not so now.
“Why do you seek to eat my flesh?”
“Because your meat is pure and fresh.”
I looked at her bewilderedly,
As cold flesh grabs me hungrily.
I’m trapped by the inhumanly
Who dismember me eagerly.
My ghost looks on curiously,
For I can no longer feel pain.
Am I dreaming? Am I insane?
The undead carry my remains
Hastily back across the plains
Into the city where I grew
Back to a special house I knew.
I watched as they tossed my flesh in
The pot. Someone gnawed on my shin,
But I won’t need that anymore.
Still, some part of me did abhor
My cadaver’s mutilation.
“What has brought this desolation?”
I asked aloud, and the answer
A spirit gave was that, “Cancer
More hideous than ever known
Had ravished us like a cyclone.
Poison reached the water supply,
And everyone began to die.
At least, we thought we’d died at first,
Until we discovered our thirst
For the living’s juices and meat.
The first to die came back to eat
Their spouses, kids, friends, and neighbors,
Making us all join their labors.
We hunt around the country side
Like the jaws of hell gaping wide.
This happened several years ago.”
I was surprised I did not know.
But mom and dad had never told
Me this, nor that their hearts were cold.
That night they ladled out my soup
And devoured it as their goop
Dripped like pus from sores in their bowls.
They fought for the dregs like crazed trolls.
Then, when they had consumed it all
They all went outside and did fall
To the ground. Their bodies melted
Like summer hail that has pelted
Hot southern climes furiously.
I studied this curiously.
Have my assailants passed away?
A sudden breeze seemed to convey
Electricity back to the
House. My parents stood before me
Now in their fleshless, spectral forms.
“It’s good to be rid of those worms,”
My mom smiled as she winked at dad.
“Where are the bodies you just had?”
“They are good to hunt and eat with,
But the spirit’s truly the pith
Of being in the Afterdeath.
Though silent as a statue’s breath,
This cold, spirit form can channel
More power than you can handle.
Our zombie forms are slow and reek,
They are Creole when you know Greek.
They’re not refined and cannot pass
Through walls like spirits to harass
The weaklings that we mortify
To the extent we chondrify
Their bones, and they are easy kills,
Petrified, and covered with chills.
We slay them without sympathy.
The spirit has telepathy,
As well as telekinesis.
It is without agenesis,
With the exception so fleeting
That bodies do all the eating.
They’re necessary to savor
Human flesh in every flavor.
Perhaps these things seem unreal now,
But these truths you can’t disavow.
You’ll learn. It’s like riding a bike,
Albeit that is no thrill like
Seeing terror bathe someone’s eyes
And listening to their wild cries
Curdle like old milk in their throats
As you eat them like tender shoats.
The living are but bred to die.
They know it—look them in the eye,
And their panic makes evident
That to earth they’ve only been sent
As a premonition of what
Will be when living they are not,
To be hunted as coturnix.
A human is but a phoenix,
What greatness comes from its ashes
After our teeth on it gnashes
You’ll have the chance to discover.
May fiendishness be your lover.”
I didn’t know how to reply,
So I let the moments slide by.
Well, it seems that I’m here to stay.
Time together’s good, anyway.
I wanted to surprise them; they
Surprised me instead yesterday.

The Katydid Sighed

~ Iyan Igma

The black vinyl of the couch stuck
To my skin in the sweltering
Heat. I lie here in the trailer,
Knowing it is poor sheltering.

But it was not from tornadoes
That the tin could not protect me,
But from the pervasive fear that
Something was going to get me.

I could feel it in my stomach;
It was as certain as my nose.
Despite my ploys to distract my
Mind, the ominous dread but grows.

I couldn’t sleep in my bedroom,
Since they already knew that room.
The mosquito empathizes;
Why’d we have to look at the moon

And stars while sitting on the hood
Of the Celica some nights back?
While looking for the satellites
As gnats and mosquitoes attack,

We thought that we’d bond together,
As we did watching Flash Gordon
In the wee hours of Thursdays.
Where constellations did cordon

Off their areas, twinkling lights
Of commercial airlines appeared.
Another light sped cross the sky,
Then, it unnaturally veered.

It started heading straight for us.
At the time, I thought it was cool.
Then, it started hovering close,
But still I was a childish fool.

My step-father and I looked up
To see its lights dead over us.
Then, suddenly it darkened, and
My blood seemed to turn into pus,

It had become so hard to breathe,
And I knew my heart would soon burst.
With a glance, I could tell that he
Was also fearing for the worst.

A bright light shone above us,
And I knew that we had been caught.
Had the light made me motionless,
Or was it because I was fraught?

As suddenly as it had shone,
The light vanished and sped away.
But just thinking of the moment
Makes me nauseous with fear today.

My back is pressed into the couch
As I lie on my thin right side,
Buried deep into the cushions,
Wishing that my blanket could hide

Me from these night visitors like
It does from monsters under beds.
The problem is that they are real,
Despite their surreal, long, gray heads.

I didn’t want to give credence
To them by believing, but fact
Continues being true despite
How hopes, dreams, and wishes react.

I knew I’d see their oblong eyes
When harsh light flared through the window
Beneath which I kept vigil with
The impotency of shadow.

I could do nothing but hide;
My terror grew as the light did.
The lights dimmed as the car passed by.
I sighed; so did a katydid.

I should have listened for the noise,
But PTSD lacks reason.
We were coming home from a friends’,
And soon we’d see Jacky Gleason

Reruns on the television
In the house where we used to live.
We had been happy there until
We had both been taken captive.

That night, though dark, we neither thought
Nor worried about the strange lights.
The wilderness of south Georgia
Swallowed us, though we had on brights.

With not a car upon the road
And oldies on the radio,
We passed through loblollies and oaks
That far surpassed Palladio.

Then, our car died. Familiar lights
Hovered above us. We were trapped.
We were motionless in the car.
We were presents to be unwrapped.

‘Stop thinking of that! They’ll hear you!’
I scolded myself for the fear.
We’d moved since, though it mattered not.
Night was my captor; dawn was dear.

I lie here for several moments,
Unwilling to call for my mom.
I’m no baby. Gilead had
No balm, though I’d fake my aplomb.

The symphony of bugs without
Died out, and there was pure silence.
Mother nature was trying to
Warn me that there’d soon be violence.

I knew what thing this foreboded,
I knew that hiding couldn’t save.
Why would I hide ‘neath the window?
‘Tis a foolish way to behave.

The sweat was pouring from my scalp;
My pores were busy excreting.
Was it Georgia’s heat or my fears
That caused such great overheating?

My legs cried to my mind to run.
But to where? The dark woods outside?
They must have had an implant, for
They found me anywhere I’d hide.

Spending the night at a friend’s house
Had rarely granted me reprieve.
I couldn’t tell anyone now;
With him dead, why would they believe?

My ears could hear the dull thudding
Of my heart beating in my breast.
Couldn’t the insects sing once more
And put my weary mind at rest?

Then, lightning flashed but never dimmed,
And I was unable to move.
My eyes from the growing shadows
On the wall I could not remove.

Why couldn’t they go to my room
And be content I’m not in bed?
They know precisely where to find
Me. Do they see in infrared?

I feel like I’m choking; I’m scared.
Oblong shadows on the wall leer,
Obscuring family portraits as
Through the window I’m sure they peer.

And There’s a Lady in the Lake

~ Iyan Igma

In the silence of the night,
I hear a baby crying,
And the rain is pelting me
As if it were dying.
The wind is blowing with a roar;
The trees have set to shake.
Fire balls drop in lightning form,
And there’s a lady in the lake.

Her form’s the picture of mystique,
And captivated were my eyes;
And I could no less watch her there
Than a meteor’s fiery demise.
She speaks to me through the wind
And bids my soul to obey.
I leave the safety of my lodge,
And wend myself her way.
Enchantment aptly describes
How she has me transfixed,
And I count my curséd stars,
That it’s me the lady’s picked.
I reach her, and she leans in close
To bestow a wicked kiss.
Plunging her blade into my heart,
I feel only murdered bliss.
The hammering in my ears dies,
And my heart no longer beats.
But steadily she’s kissing me,
Winking as she my dead gaze meets.
Without the utt’rance of a word,
She tells me that I am hers.
By the tone I can tell that I
Mean no more than jewels or furs.
I try to flee, and she smiles
With the smirk of wickedness.
I take a feeble step away,
And I stumble into darkness.

I awake as underground falls
Crash like a weary drake.
I feel bound and gagged like a fish
Swimming for survival’s sake.
Resurfacing at last, I feel
Alive and totally awake.
I’m free of the enchantress now.
But there’s a lady in the lake.

“Pet,” she whispers through the wind,
“Do you not see? Your force is mine.
I can slay you when I want;
I can make you beg and pine.”
I knew the truth of her words
And wondered why she would do this?
She laughed at my despair and said,
“It was just a little kiss.”
But what I lost with that kiss
No mortal should have to bear.
But I’m no more mortal than
The wind e’er blowing her hair.
She sent me forth to conquer all,
My lady’s gallant knight, indeed!
A soulless wretch lab’ring for
Her honor! Her monstrous steed!
Her fear I carried to regions
Where I “died” repeatedly,
But in the instant took back “life”,
For she never would set me free.
Slumbering kings and their dead guards
And battalions arrayed for war,
Would glimpse me for a second,
And then glimpse nothing more.
Their shafts and screams could not affect
Me, though they made me ache,
For they ne’er once affected
The lady in the lake.

How I prayed they could defeat me;
How I welcomed every slice!
But the mem’ry of her lips
Was my soul’s strengthening spice.
The salt I sowed in the ground,
The carnage I left behind,
Were blessings, if others could see
How she poisoned my soul and mind.
I am not my own, and no one
Should feel the harrows on the soul
From hating the one you love,
Who you’d love to make you whole.
Through the desert she egged me on,
And I hoped my thirst to slake.
But in the oasis’s mirage
There was a lady in the lake.

And no matter where she did send
Me, I heard her tones on the wind,
“You can climb a mountain’s glacial crest
Or chase the sun dying in the west,
But you can’t escape, make no mistake,
For I am your lady in the lake.”

“It seems my task is now all through;
There’s none alive but me and you.
I do whatever you wish,
Now may I have another kiss?”
She leaned in, and the wind spake,
“Well done, my simple, soulless snake.
Now we can spend eternity
Together through my sorcery.
None shall ever my reign break.
Now serve your Lady in the lake.”

“What shall I do?” I queried,
Wishing that time would have tarried,
Though I knew the reply.
Her smile was as soothing as lye,
As she handed me her poniard.
“Free your soul. Thrust the blade in hard.”
The evil glowed which did imbue
The blade which was to run me through,
Which once upon a cursed night stole
My humanity and my soul.
It’s funny how I’d sought to die,
But looking in her wicked eye,
Dying made me want to cry.
Her murd’rous blade I plunged in deep
Where my useless heart now did sleep.
I feel the fate she did bequeath
Me as she shows her iv’ry teeth.
It’s funny that now as I die,
I miss her kiss and begin to cry.
She’ll be the last thing I shall see,
Caressing my face laughingly.
The lips I slaughtered nations for
Shall not caress mine anymore.
My knees and vision start to shake;
She smiles, the lady in the lake.

I wake up like a cotton gin,
And a storm is blowing in.
I’m at my lodge, safe within.
What a fright that must have been.
The dream gave me cold, clammy skin.
The wind brings me a familiar laugh
That rends my soulless form in half.
Memories cause my hands to shake,
And there’s a lady in the lake.

Where Lies?

~ Iyan Igma

The call cleared the sleep from my eyes
Like a plague of Egyptian flies.
I donned the first clothes I could find,
Listening to my morbid mind.
So I go down the broken street,
With no eager haste in my feet
And a heart that’s feeling wary,
To the curséd cemetery
Where I no longer go to mourn
The rotting wife from me torn
By death’s cold and unyielding hand,
Which destroys all that one has planned.
And as I reach the iron gate,
Whose cherub has a rusted pate,
My mocking mind says, “You’re too late
To stop the thieves who desecrate.”
Granite leans, and angels sag;
My apprehensive feet I drag
To the corner where lies a hole
And where recently lay a soul—
Lifeless, in supine position,
Waiting in decomposition.
How could this stench not have debunked
The desire to stir the defunct?
Carrion circle in the air,
And, lo, I see some strands of hair
Strewn in the grass the dew did wet.
Is this the hair I once did pet?
Ants bustle off with gobs of flesh.
Was this the skin I did caress?
But peering into the abyss
That seemed her company to miss,
Only darkness could I there find,
As would her eyes by death now blind.
I pick up a casket splinter—
Part of the one she did enter?—
And I wonder how this could be.
What could provoke such barbary?
Where lies the corpse that I’ve interred
Where worms and maggots oft have fared?
What hideous fiend would disturb
The sanctity of this suburb
Where souls reside far from the work
And toils the living’d love to shirk,
Except it be not by this end,
The path to which never does wend,
But goes straightly and steeply down
Some six long feet beneath the ground,
Where the living, gasping for air,
Would scarcely seem to have a prayer
Of managing a prison break
If buried alive by mistake?
Oh, how I did want to vomit
With the fury of a comet!
The police knew not who were the blokes;
The only witnesses were oaks.
Since there was naught that I could do,
To my home I speedily flew,
Thinking that there I could bathe,
While my mind spun ’round like a lathe.
And in my haste I never saw
The rotten meat that worms did gnaw
Scattered like jetsam on the way.
My mind was dark; the skies were gray.
The grimy knob I ne’er noted,
Thinking of the dead and bloated,
Until a pungent odor rose
Up to meet my pitiful nose.
Egad! Surely this could not be.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
But dirty footprints marked the path
Through the kitchen and past the bath.
Toward my bedroom the prints head,
And there lying upon my bed
Was a vision that did me chill,
For ’twas my bride that time did kill.
Surely she could not be alive,
For my lonely years have been five.
Yet lying there in her own goo
While aqueous humour seeped through,
She fixed me with a steely stare
That seemed to take away my air.
Though missing several of her locks,
She still retained her vocal box,
For I would swear I heard her say,
“My darling, why did you betray?
What is this thing that you have done
To anger your long-sleeping one?”
My mind must have started to fray.
Astonished, I managed to say,
“I know not, for I did cherish
You e’er until you did perish.”
She rose up like an addled swan,
A ghastly thing to look upon.
Her ragged approach did me stun;
I was too petrified to run.
I watched with incredulity
As she drew near ominously.
“Ah, now you attempt to be brave
When you are but a yellow knave.
There is nothing that can you save
From the misery of my grave.
Though you were true to me in life,
Dying makes me no less your wife.
E’en though you thought I’d never see,
My spirit watched your adult’ry.
And though you’d say ’twas just a kiss,
Your face was painted with sheer bliss.
If I cannot have you, should she?
I will never let you go free.”
Her languid advance did mock
The helpless state of my shock.
“With jealousy fueling my rage,
I entered my decaying cage.
Furious, from the ground I burst
To fulfill the plan I’d rehearsed.”
She reached the spot where I did stand,
Placing on me a gory hand.
There was no warmth left in her touch,
But nothing could have burnt as much.
Ne’er releasing me from her stare,
Her raspings once more split the air.
“Remember when youth crowned my head?
‘I’ll love you forever’, you said.
You vowed that death could never us part,
And sealed it carving out a heart
And our initials on a tree,
Which symbolized your love for me.
For this tree, like our love, should grow
Enduring even winter’s snow,
The cold of which would be like death:
Untimely, smothering my breath.”
And then she tried to kiss me where
Only mortal lips should e’er dare.
She oped her mouth and worms fell out;
My neighbors never heard my shout

White Mammoth

~ Iyan Igma

My fathers had spoken of this
White Mammoth that few had seen.
I thought it was a legend like
The grass that they said once was green.

They had painted stories of it
In the cold caves that we called home.
They told my wife and child such tales
While I went hunting beasts alone.

I sat fashioning a new spear;
My prior kill had destroyed the last.
I’d be crippled like these men who
Tell tales, if I had not been fast.

The flint I clacked made feeble sparks;
May they take weakness from my spear.
I only wanted strength to stay,
For this weapon should know no fear.

As I left the tales did begin.
‘Tis well to talk around the heat
About such meaningless legends,
While I freeze hunting for our meat.

I pulled the tiger hide in close.
He rued the day he’d ventured here.
I’m as grateful for his warmth as
I am for my unfailing spear.

The snow blew around me like smoke.
It was just as pleasant to breathe.
It froze in my beard and nostrils.
The wind was heard to fiercely seethe.

I descended from the mountain.
The cold my skin numbed and caressed.
I journeyed o’er the glacial plain
To where the mammoths made their nest.

I looked back on my footprints that
The snow was working to erase.
But instead of seeing my tracks,
A different set was in its place.

They looked just like a mammoth’s tracks.
It seemed like the beast was alone.
How had he passed so close to me
Without making his presence known?

I turned back from the nest I sought.
This beast would be easier prey.
I’d need the herd to separate,
Which might mean that I’d wait all day.

The snow hid the woolly figure;
I pursued its tracks stealthily.
I’d need the vantage of surprise,
And not just because it would flee.

These beasts were worse than a tiger,
And their pale tusks are longer, too.
The tiger might attack for meat,
But just one stomp could not crush you.

My brothers three and I once went
To proudly hunt a mammoth herd.
But I returned with what remained.
My parents never said a word.

After all, that’s just how it works.
We live. We eat. We breed. We die.
Sometimes we warm ourselves by fire.
We’re wounded, but we rarely cry.

What good is it to fight ‘gainst death?
We hunt here, and there we shall hunt.
We’ll eat the spoils of mastodon flesh,
And at our wives we will still grunt.

What figure’s that far up ahead?
Can that mammoth be made of snow?
Wasn’t the beast just a legend?
Should I turn around or follow?

I thought of what glory would come
From bringing his hide to the cave.
I’d be the most renowned hunter.
My legend would live past the grave.

I thought of the story I’d tell
Of how fearsome the battle was.
‘Twould be nice to share something rare
With my young hunter with peach fuzz.

I closed the distance between us;
The blizzard occluded the sound.
I raised my spear in victory.
I prepared for a vicious bound.

But as I stepped, my food slid through
The hard packed snow and ice below.
Black tar seized me and I struggled
For freedom. But beneath the snow,

Black tendrils waited to trap me.
My spear was wrested from my hand.
I sank more the more I struggled.
Would I reach the snow-covered land?

And in the middle of my fight,
I was interrupted by a stare.
Tusks and trunks framed two beastly eyes
Living in a snowdrift of hair.

‘How is it that this beast,’ I mused,
‘Doesn’t sink down into the tar?’
He looks at me with such intent
As I study him with wonder.

He seems to float above the ground,
He doesn’t have a trace of fright.
I recall few have lived to tell
Of seeing this mammoth so white.

The legends say it was no beast,
But rather an evil spirit.
Nor tale nor warning did I heed:
Hunters die who do not fear it.

Sight proved what I’d disdained, but ’twas
Too late to be saved by belief.
With the exception of death’s rest,
For dying there is no relief.

My spear broke free from the pitch muck.
In a second’s shimmering span
The mammoth morphed its appearance.
It was like me. It was a man.

I recognized his face from when
Melted water had shone me mine.
I was petrified in the tar;
Terror had firm grasp of my spine.

He grabbed my spear with a smug smile.
“I’ll be a good man to your child,”
It said, as it turned, heading home.
I fought again just like a wild

Creature, but I just sank and sank.
The last sight I managed to see
Was my body walking from me
To deceive my dear family.

Something in my black breast told me
‘Twould be a generation more
Before some hunter’d chance to see
The cursed white mammoth anymore.

Frozen Climes

~ Iyan Igma

Snow blankets the earth in purity,
As a maiden for baptism dressed;
Hiding beneath the iniquity,
Like sorrowful memories repressed.
You ventured forth with frivolity,
And gaiety your young heart caressed.
Now, like a warm wind so fair and free,
From these frozen climes you have vanished.
Our home gave no evidence of thee;
The solitude my spirits oppressed.
My hunting spoils seemed but vanity,
And with worry my faint heart obsessed.
The Borealis seemed a sentry
Signaling some wrong to be redressed.
In the darkness I searched franticly.
Never finding you, I grew depressed.
And suddenly, o’er this frozen sea,
Now appears your golden visage blessed.
“Wait, my love,” resounds my passioned plea.
But you never heeded my request.
Through the snow you glide spectrally,
Pretending not to have been addressed.
“Oh, then where can El Dorado be?”
Cried the sinking heart within my breast.
You turned and smiled quite eerily,
Like the ghost to the knight needing rest,
And beckoned to me daintily.
I eagerly followed your behest.
A wolf howling and a creaking tree
And silence as our journey progressed;
I never attained your company,
No matter how fervently I pressed.
“Let me see your face once more, Lily,”
I cried as the cold my soul possessed.
You blew me a kiss and waved good-bye,
And now Death has both of us purchased.

Like Dust on the Shores of Antiquity

~ Iyan Igma

“Do you remember when settled were we
Like dust on the shores of antiquity?
Scarcely did we e’er think to be disturbed,
Since love’s blindness is not easily curbed.
Ah, back then, so close to the beginning,
I still believed in a happy ending.
That was before the winds swept o’er us cold,
And death rearing its head we did behold.
Your head now is hoary, your limbs now frail,
But at least your faculties still avail.
I’ve watched you in your sickness and in your health,
I’ve remained through your poverty and wealth.
Our vows were fulfilled, though you cannot see,
That I was in the best and worst with thee.
Decades I’ve wandered in this anguished glade,
Hidden from thy sight and touch, my once maid.
Caressing you, oh if I could but cry!,
My ethereal hands can’t make you sigh.
Thou beast that destroyed our innocent bliss
And deny me forever of her kiss!
Oh, thou Death that didst too quickly us part
And garnered the wrath of my fractured heart!”

The Green Zone

~ Iyan Igma

Our worst fighting was in Fallujah;
It was the hell-hole of Iraq.
But we’re transferring to Baghdad,
And soon we would be heading back.

We thought about our home town girls
With their gorgeous blonde curls that flounce,
Which bounced with every bump as this
Devastation’s road made us jounce.

‘Twas nice to think of tender things,
And know they’d be realities,
Since we’d be leaving this land of
Camel spiders and Iraqis.

We only had a few days left,
And those moments seemed like magic.
We never expected that we’d see
One of the moments most tragic.

We were stationed at the Green Zone,
And our minds were lulled by the peace.
We were half-hearted sentries. I
Told the private about my niece.

The war had hardened us greatly;
Violence was a sickening disease
That somehow made it possible
To think of others as mere fleas

That we must quash and then forget,
Since they would do the same to us.
We stood talking pleasantly while
Crumbling Baghdad lived in ruckus.

Suddenly, he raised his rifle,
And I was bewildered at first.
Of the days to let my guard slip,
With home looming, this was the worst.

I raised my weapon, and my glance
Looked for the same target he had.
But there were just the normal folks,
The women, and boys of Baghdad.

“What is it, Private?” I asked as
My apprehension grew bigger.
He didn’t respond. His finger
Hesitated on the trigger.

Then, with an oath he fired, and the
Crowds scattered at the resound.
There was a shrill, womanly scream;
The bullet its target had found.

I looked to see where pools of blood
Gushed warm from the neutralized’s head.
I saw the bombs strapped on, and if
Not for the private, I’d be dead.

No bombs exploded there that day,
But remorse took its curséd stead.
The private looked into those eyes
Now white. “The little boy is dead.”