The Field That Never Was
By Boekhtiar
The Field that Never WasA lonely raven's feverish flight,Across an ashen field that hides,Deep in winter's shadowy night,Foretelling of Doom's early rides.Through icy wrath he fights on,For cover in the silvery glade,Though sanctuary he finds none,From frost's unforgiving blade.'O, what have I done to deserve this fate,That none of my kin has ever yet faced,Is it for me alone that misfortune sates?'Whispers the raven in dark distaste.Harder he races across the forlorn sky,To reach the field, fueled by despair,Yet, how hard and relentless he might try,He could not defeat night's tireless mare.So, at the end, the raven's crusade,Against Death's ageless grasp,Rends futile with each stroke made, By his wings of midnight dust. His heart devoid of shock,Of the great distance that his falling be,Out of storm's wintry frock,Free at last from life's misery.In his last glimpse of this pathetic world,He beholds the field's crystalline face,Glistening under night's heavenly pearl,With a sullen, menacing grace.And thus, rest the silent raven,Without gain, without loss,Deep beneath his watery haven, In the field that never was. By Boekhtiar bin Borhanuddin(circa 1998)Another old poem that I thought there's something wrong with the rhythm. Any suggestion to improve it? Do you also think that the introduction is too sudden? Written November 29th, 2001 © on Nov 29 2001 01:57 PM PST 0 • 10
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"The Field that Never WasA lonely raven's feverish flight,Across an ashen field that hides,Deep in winter's shadowy night,Foretelling of Doom's early rides.Through icy wrath he fights on,For cover in the silvery glade,Though sanctuary he finds none,From frost's unforgiving blade.'O, what have I done to deserve this fate,That none of my kin has ever yet faced,Is it for me alone that misfortune sates?'Whispers the raven in dark distaste.Harder he races across the forlorn sky,To reach the field, fueled by despair,Yet, how hard and relentless he might try,He could not defeat night's tireless mare.So, at the end, the raven's crusade,Against Death's ageless grasp,Rends futile with each stroke made, By his wings of midnight dust. His heart devoid of shock,Of the great distance that his falling be,Out of storm's wintry frock,Free at last from life's misery.In his last glimpse of this pathetic world,He beholds the field's crystalline face,Glistening under night's heavenly pearl,With a sullen, menacing grace.And thus, rest the silent raven,Without gain, without loss,Deep beneath his watery haven, In the field that never was. By Boekhtiar bin Borhanuddin(circa 1998)Another old poem that I thought there's something wrong with the rhythm. Any suggestion to improve it? Do you also think that the introduction is too sudden?..."