Somoshree Palit
“Per me si va ne la cittã dolente,
Per me si va ne l’etterno dolore,
Per me si va tra la perduta gente.“
These are scars your pride denies,
Like an infant’s brains crushed on stone.
This scar in dark with horror cries,
Laughs and spits mockery at your throne.
Mercy, mercy, ever mercy, my Lord,
O mercy sweet on my vanquished pride,
The Eternal Truth, who sees your fraud?
Peerless god, why do you hide?
There was a golden boy, five nails and a crown –
“Thou shalt be redeemed, forgiven, search!”
There is a bitter triumph in falling down :
Like a fallen prayer in a waking church.
If I am a monster, it is you who made me.
If I am a sinner, you are the sacred sin.
Who planted an apple in a Forbidden Tree?
Answer then Father, who provoked that sin?
They know his hubris, his death, his cries.
They are scared to speak of how he flew.
That his laughter had scared the setting skies,
Father, your child just wanted to be you.
You could have made a heaven on earth,
With your children moulded just like you.
It is either that man is pure from birth,
Or a tyrant, a whited sepulchre like you.
You made them mortal, you made them sin,
You made them sinners so I could drown.
Lord of light, with dark within,
Had they been you, they’d bring you down.
You wished to be the morning star,
For me was a night, a damned soul.
Father, if you laughed at your fallen child,
Your broken child can swallow you whole.
I reign in darkness, I rule the Light,
With ancient hands at my throat –
In my Hell I’m his Starry Night,
In my Hell I’m his suicide note.
The mortal god fears his pride.
The immortal one fears to see :
The Mirror would crack from side to side,
If he beheld himself, and saw but me.
Mirror Mirror on the wall,
Who was the fairest before our fall?
Mirror Mirror on the wall,
Who has fallen the most of us all?
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