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deepundergroundpoetry.com
An Evil Ordained
from a Hindu myth
Once, in the dark,
a gargantuan mutant loomed above the Earth,
containing countless eyes and countless hands,
more legs than a bucket of millipedes,
and other parts in ugly plenitude.
A flesh-less butcher brought its tools
and hacked through muscle, joint, and bone,
not heeding the countless eyes
which stared at him, the countless hands
raised in protest. Each bloody member fell
into the womb of the Earth, and was reassembled
until a human tribe was born.
Alternatively, another door
in this kaleidoscope of myth
takes you to a lowly field where father mounts daughter,
an evil ordained to figure the image of man.
Semen trickles down the girl's pale leg
and greets the unharvested soil, which is her wedding bed.
The womb of the Earth makes of use of these seeds,
until a human tribe is born.
Still another door to open...
behind: a depraved old hedonist
on the porch of a gentleman's club,
chewing cigars like chocolate bars
and chasing whiskey with vodka.
His clean, well-cut white suit betrayed
by a mouth full of yellowing teeth.
He leans in for a confidence,
and says: 'creation is a dismemberment and
a violation. The canvas host of a painting
is ripped from its mothers body.
All pleasure, my friend, is a little bit evil.
And will ever be,
until the human tribe is dead.'
Once, in the dark,
a gargantuan mutant loomed above the Earth,
containing countless eyes and countless hands,
more legs than a bucket of millipedes,
and other parts in ugly plenitude.
A flesh-less butcher brought its tools
and hacked through muscle, joint, and bone,
not heeding the countless eyes
which stared at him, the countless hands
raised in protest. Each bloody member fell
into the womb of the Earth, and was reassembled
until a human tribe was born.
Alternatively, another door
in this kaleidoscope of myth
takes you to a lowly field where father mounts daughter,
an evil ordained to figure the image of man.
Semen trickles down the girl's pale leg
and greets the unharvested soil, which is her wedding bed.
The womb of the Earth makes of use of these seeds,
until a human tribe is born.
Still another door to open...
behind: a depraved old hedonist
on the porch of a gentleman's club,
chewing cigars like chocolate bars
and chasing whiskey with vodka.
His clean, well-cut white suit betrayed
by a mouth full of yellowing teeth.
He leans in for a confidence,
and says: 'creation is a dismemberment and
a violation. The canvas host of a painting
is ripped from its mothers body.
All pleasure, my friend, is a little bit evil.
And will ever be,
until the human tribe is dead.'
Published 27th Sep 2016
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The author encourages honest critique.
Wow this weaves between the explanation and story and it does it well. I had to consider some of the explanation a few times to get the "just" of the story. For me what stands out is how each line of the story is a epic / brilliant one... I was particularly fond of...
"more legs than a bucket of millipedes"
"this kaleidoscope of myth "
"chewing cigars like chocolate bars"
"well-cut white suit betrayed
by a mouth full of yellowing teeth."
"All pleasure, my friend, is a little bit evil.
And will ever be,
until the human tribe is dead.' "
What absolutely fantastic images you've conjured in this. What also impressed me from a completely unattached POV, whilst the piece discusses a myth of a religeous faith, at no time in the poem does it belittle or mock or question the validity of the myth or the faith and interestingly the opposite is also true in that it does not validify either. That is an unusual trait around these parts for a story to be told rather than a opinion sold.
Ahh Jack I think you probably get the idea that I really like this and what you've done here. Thanks for the read Mr. H
Blue Skies & Flutterbyes at ja!
Al
"more legs than a bucket of millipedes"
"this kaleidoscope of myth "
"chewing cigars like chocolate bars"
"well-cut white suit betrayed
by a mouth full of yellowing teeth."
"All pleasure, my friend, is a little bit evil.
And will ever be,
until the human tribe is dead.' "
What absolutely fantastic images you've conjured in this. What also impressed me from a completely unattached POV, whilst the piece discusses a myth of a religeous faith, at no time in the poem does it belittle or mock or question the validity of the myth or the faith and interestingly the opposite is also true in that it does not validify either. That is an unusual trait around these parts for a story to be told rather than a opinion sold.
Ahh Jack I think you probably get the idea that I really like this and what you've done here. Thanks for the read Mr. H
Blue Skies & Flutterbyes at ja!
Al
28th Sep 2016 7:17pm
I think because any myth that isn't Christian (or, perhaps, Islamic) is so alien to our general everyday culture and history (in the west), we can approach it with more objectivity and without politics. I'm glad this poem came across as not belittling of Hindu myth.
