The desperate search for rhythm and rhyme in these Queer Poems, through intense imagery, assonance, alliteration, lines that match in rhyme yet not in rhythm, broken lines, quirky grammar that seems to have no resolution reflects the experience of frustration of all the pariahs of a society that still promotes prejudice, discrimination and injustice yet calls itself 'civilised'.
These poems are a cry for the right to be really equal on behalf of all the downtrodden, all those who suffer from injustice, be they the homeless, the poor, those women whose marriage ends up being the prison of domestic violence, the LGBT community and more, and follows the path explored by Eliot's 'Preludes' in translating frustration and the quest for freedom and respect of far too many people into the search for form and structure in poems that seem to have a glimpse of form, but do they really have it?
Shadow Whisper
Behind the bleeding veils of coarse
Corrosive cords of linen stiffened
In the breath that freezes stars
And chokes the Moon in solitary
Nights, the blighted cries of voices
Moist with poisoned spells
Of Hell
Are drawn on charcoaled canvas cut
And torn by time
When echoes shadow sparks
In embers stifled under scars
Like drops of thoughts that thaw in thick
Black holes devouring dry, deserted
Worlds with wanton words and woes -
And stares –
Behind the curtains no one cares.
These poems are a cry for the right to be really equal on behalf of all the downtrodden, all those who suffer from injustice, be they the homeless, the poor, those women whose marriage ends up being the prison of domestic violence, the LGBT community and more, and follows the path explored by Eliot's 'Preludes' in translating frustration and the quest for freedom and respect of far too many people into the search for form and structure in poems that seem to have a glimpse of form, but do they really have it?
Shadow Whisper
Behind the bleeding veils of coarse
Corrosive cords of linen stiffened
In the breath that freezes stars
And chokes the Moon in solitary
Nights, the blighted cries of voices
Moist with poisoned spells
Of Hell
Are drawn on charcoaled canvas cut
And torn by time
When echoes shadow sparks
In embers stifled under scars
Like drops of thoughts that thaw in thick
Black holes devouring dry, deserted
Worlds with wanton words and woes -
And stares –
Behind the curtains no one cares.
