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POETRY | MYSTICAL EXPERIENCES | LIFE LESSONS

A Swirling Smokeless Green Smog

Prose Poetry

A.H. Mehr
Write Under the Moon
2 min readAug 1, 2024

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An image of a hazy dark- and -light green smog
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Prose of the Interpretation:

I

Dusk was yet to leave. An alluring dawn had already arrived. An orb of swirling smokeless green smog wandered in a sprawling terrace. Its lone grace, a stairway. Solitude in all corners. Ravenous spaces from start to end. No heavenly-blue morning glories or potted plants as it should be, in such an expanse — A charm lost within? A single adjoining black plum tree, a half-share, its oblong leaves and plump plums touching the parapet. Eager to be a part of what’s not there!

II

Whispers echo each other on the muted mortar steps and tough handrails. Cold walls wonder, who would like this vastness enough to walk in. Harpstrings of a fading morning moon are curious too!

III

They are now forced to foresee a stroll of polished dark robes, waves of soft and lush black curls, splotched purplish ink in circles, pounded plum skin, dead seeds with fleshy fruits, like blood’s sucked out!

IV

Foreseeing is a concern too. Isn’t it? Meddles with your mind!

Interpretation of the Prose:

I

A girl had never been to a secluded terrace. Sensitive and attractive. Black was her beloved, forbidden. Yet, she sneaked in. It was as if there was a pull and a probability. Whispers had engulfed her!

II

Ethereal in her soft silky black gown, undone hair, she strode the stairway in nonchalance, all alone. Gulped fresh air covetously, her wet curls drenching in the rising sun’s warmth. Time stood still. Suspended plums on the tree. Bewitched by a puff of indistinct smog, she returned from the expanse, unharmed. With her footsteps downwards, time resumed its mobility, a few fruits fell to their falls!

III

Then followed a broken and beaten feeling for the rest of the day. An ache and a choke. An exhaustion, a stifling. A sigh, a confusion. Biding the night was her life’s collective nightmare. Ensuing morning saw a light-deep red-purplish constriction around her neck, which took days to disappear!

IV

This was no pleasant magic. Logically indefinable. An illogical definition if there was one. An experience of an existence in all its reality!!

All Rights Reserved
© A.H. Mehr — 2024

With thanks to Claire and Team for publishing my poem.

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A.H. Mehr
A.H. Mehr

Written by A.H. Mehr

Graphophile - In a small way, but loving this aesthete's journey.

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