"The Beheading" by Faustino Raineri‘The Terrorists’ and Other Poetry by Gleb Zavlanov The Society January 10, 2017 Beauty, Culture, Poetry, Terrorism 6 Comments The Terrorists Tears feed the sweeping sands beneath their feet, And blood runs deep into the living ground. The sun throbs down with agonizing heat. The captives kneel, blindfolded, with no sound: Only the jitter of the distant bug, The hum of desert winds above the trees, The spikes of hot adrenaline that tug Unto the heart until it sinks with ease, The glitter of the steel-harsh blade, the gleam Found in the executioner’s cold eye, All passing in the likeness of a dream, That withers into dust when one must die. The jitter shakes and rattles through the air. The sands thrash, offering their final plea, But no one hears, the blade swipes down, and their Blood feeds the sands they’ve tried so hard to free. The executioners, without a glance Of pity, leave the carcasses to rot. The world lies silent, trapped as in a trance, A trance of dark and never-ending thought. Dull throbs the dusty sky, dull throbs the day, While death’s wan film sets on each hero’s face. Their images begin to fade away, While terrorists fill up that gaping space. They once were children, once had mothers who Would lose their eyes for them if they were blind Would give away their ears and noses to Ensure that their beloved children find The straightest road to their most fervent dreams. They once were children who, with purest eyes, Gazed on the world, yearned for its deep extremes, And lingered always on the distant skies. Once children, but how rough the world may turn, How savage shift the grainy sands of Time, How, with such speed, all former memories burn And childish love turn into scornful crime, Toys sharpened into blades that pierce and jab, And mothers’ gentle kisses and good nights Hardened to swords to kill, behead and stab And torture people right before our sights. Our bleeding, mangled heroes lie upon The sands, blood dripping through the scorching ground, And by their sides, tall shadows in the sun Like wretched phantoms wait without a sound, Cold husks of their once former selves, mere slaves That topple truer men of truer grit, Once filling hearts with love, now filling graves, Alive on Earth, but slowly killing it. To John Keats Fair poet whose soft tones the oceans bless. Whose songs fill echoes of the summer’s clime, Unearthly sounds that take delight to chime With melodies of unheard loveliness. As breezes sweep the rose’s pearly tress Or breathe their fruitful songs in autumn’s prime As nightingales sing sweet, so is your rhyme That with fair nature stands of power no less. Could I some morn dwell by a sturdy oak To lean against her roots and smell the grass With your smooth verse’s power there to evoke A sundry beauty in my psyche’s glass, Of poetry that for long ages spoke And speaks ‘til time to nothingness must pass. Gleb Zavlanov is a high school senior who occupies himself with literature, language and music. His poetry has appeared in The Phoenix, the literary magazine of the prestigious Townsend Harris High School in Flushing, New York. Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Related Post ‘The Clockmaker’ by Benjamin Daniel Lukey When I was young, I’d disassemble clocks So I could understand what made them go. With tools in hand, and pieces in a box, I’d wonder, an... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail 6 Responses Amy Foreman January 10, 2017 Powerful poems, each so different from the other, but each painting such a vivid picture. I like your use of enjambment in the first poem, and I like the spondaic quality of the line, “Dull throbs the dusty sky, dull throbs the day.” Coming in the middle of the iambic pentameter, it slowed my reading down with its heavy footfall, much like a funeral dirge. Very effective. Keep up the excellent writing, Gleb! Reply Gleb January 10, 2017 Thank you for the comment. I’m glad you found it powerful. Reply Debbie Johnson January 11, 2017 These are both excellent poems and written with a maturity I wouldn’t expect in a high school student. They both have strong rhymes and use of enjambment. The first describes the tragedies and atrocities of war and terror so very well. Great imagery evokes the reader’s emotions. The imagery in the second poem is beautiful and a stark contrast to that of the first one. Keep on writing. You have talent. Reply Gleb Zavlanov January 14, 2017 Thank you for the compliment. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Reply Lorna Davis January 11, 2017 I was also surprised to see that the poet here is a high school student, not only because of the poetic skill, but also the depth of the sentiment expressed. Well done! Reply Gleb Zavlanov January 14, 2017 Thank you so much for reading and commenting. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.