Photo credit: Hakim El Haj
The Beauty of Hell
By Farah Abdul
I am clinging onto life by only a thread.
That is, in fact, what life is, you see;
a string to escort you to one of two places when you’re dead,
either the domicile of the seraphs, or the lair of hades.
Will the sirens deceive me into walking straight through hell?
Their beautiful voices have already tricked me, so they don’t have to yell.
Fret not, my pretty sirens
for I will follow you at any time wherever you go!
I am like a sailor lost at sea in the midst of a tragic storm, environed
by your everlasting beauty that I will appreciate as you glow.
Although I know that I am making a very tragic mistake,
I cannot help myself from following them, as a conflicted spirit, into their deadly lake.
The sirens might be selling my soul
to the devil as I ascend with them to what they say is heaven.
They are indeed my deadly goal
and I will stop at nothing to get them even though I am missing out on the layers of the seven.
They have cut off my string
and have left me stranded, not alone, but with their voices and the songs they sing.
Oh, is this not the fate of every human?
To be so easily deceived by what they call beauty?
Their voices have sent me to a dark place where I am met with other men,
so surely the one to be deceived is not only me.
Oh why have you done this, my silver-tongued angel of death?
I was torn between two places, but I chose the path with you,
the one that tore away my happiness and my breath.
Photo credit: Matt Dod
By Farah Abdul
Stars have never shone as bright as they are shining tonight.
Is it because they’re trying to compete with your eyes?
I could say that the whole world has stopped and is staring at you right now,
but I won’t allow them the privilege of looking at you, for on this starry night you are only my prize.
At times I question if we were truly destined to meet.
How could this Seraph with beauty no mortal can comprehend even love me?
Your presence emits a great deal of joy onto anything it comes near.
Maybe you are the heavens that we all fantasize about and your eyes hold the key.
As we rest on these vales, I proceed to count my blessings.
I count two hundred six for every bone you carry
and one thousand or more for everything I love about you.
Although this might be quite rash and airy, is it so wrong to ask if we could marry?
Rather than answering my question, you simply flick my forehead.
You then sing and soothe me to sleep as I take in your scent.
One would question what a flick on the forehead could mean.
As someone who makes many strange things sentimental, I smiled as I knew what that flick on the forehead meant.
The ecstasy I was infused with was beauty, it was exuberance, a conviction, perhaps even a blend.
I felt joy, I felt happiness, I felt it so passionately when-
When you said to me that we would not meet an end.
Whether the stars in our sky evidently die
whether you lose the qualities that I once loved so dearly.
For every part of you that you might lose
I’ll find ten more things to love about you.
For my happiness does not emanate from the idiosyncrasies that you possess
but from the warmth that radiates from your heart; nevertheless,
some may find gaiety in planting a tree and watching its leaves become coveted in mountain dew.
For others it may be staring at the sky that is so blue,
whereas I merely feel fortunate to be able to find my happiness in you.