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Without a Word, Without a Tear: Two Poems

Quest for love

O Refreshing rain!

Douse the fire within my soul.

Caress my wounds,

Like the sword that slithers over my lover’s neck.

Replenish the forsaken garden within my chest,

Once besieged by a grotesque guest.

Bury thorns in my flesh,

Let them grow veins for ichor yet some blood.

Make my body agate,

With belts of poison, milk, and slate.

Let the petrichor swallow fumes of grief,

The turbulence mop up the demons in me.

O sweet summer warmth!

Tell me I will wither again.

Burn morsels of my own flesh

Tell me I will seek warmth from within,

But how cold I am on the inside.

I will kindle on a whisper of his name,

A spark of light; fierce yet vain.

My jagged spark will rouse thy!

How glorious is my creation! O how greedy is my creation,

For he is thirsty of my blood.


A Sombre Acquittal 

Whisper your plot in my ear,

Without a word, without a tear.

Walk me into the hunters’ ground,

Leaded by thy phantom hounds.

Keep my head aloft,

For I fear the course of my juvenile tears.

Knead my ribs and swoon me to death,

Let your lungs swell from my ethereal breath.

Drag my corpse to swathe with funeral wreaths,

Sluice thy hands with the sorrow in me.

Nay love! Cry not to this din,

Let your glee devour my sins.

Expiate my slay,

Bathe my embers with bane.

How I wallow its taste,

For love it’s thy embrace.


Lalain Baloch is a student of English Literature at Forman Christian College, Lahore. She hails from Balochistan.

Image: Mark Rothko, Four Darks in Red (1958), Painting, Oil on Canvas, 102.0 in x 116.0 in. Courtesy G. Starke on Flickr: The Commons. URL:

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