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O Martyr
I know why the wind is without birdsong
and mothers humming infants to sleep.
I have seen enough, how it could all end
in an instant, or an instant's
aftermath. My voice forms words
you cannot hear; I'm scared that
I’m too far away to feel their gravity,
or the pull of home beneath the feet.
Though in your trust I've hid this grief,
this pact with earth that I'd return
to see out of your garment of existence
and struggle, its memory is entombed.
At night I'd wonder if I hid anything at all.
Whomever that I was, I hear
light calling me to bloom
and how these roots run deep.
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(03-20-2026, 03:28 AM)alonso ramoran Wrote: O Martyr interpreting the title is going to be important
I know why the wind is without birdsong
and mothers humming
infants to milk-drunken sleep. first sentence: takes a moment to parse into two absences
I have seen enough, how it could all end
in an instant, or an instant's
aftermath. My voice forms words second sentence: narrator has seen death, maybe violence
you cannot hear; I'm scared that
I’m too far away to know their gravity, or weight of the speaker's words; why not end line with "gravity?"
the pull of home beneath my feet.
Though in your heart I've hid addressing wind, martyr, or some other person?
this sadness, an unflinching pact
to earth that I'd return to see
through your garb of existence
and struggle, its memory is faded. Then, Sentence ending here: seems to be the martyr
I was not sure I hid anything at all. Speaker's own existence questioned
Whoever it was I was, I am But now existence affirmed,
called by light to bloom
and how these roots run deep. and with purpose
In moderate critique, I must first confess that I get an odd sense here of Ali, the first Shi'ite imam. Very odd, since I know absolutely nothing about the denomination beyond the twenty-word history Westerners get on the person and event, if that.
The title suggests, to me, that this is in the nature of a prayer addressing a specific (deceased or occluded) person, expressing the speaker's inner uncertainty and a degree of desolation. Somewhat the way a Catholic addresses mercy in the wounded heart of Mary.
So. There are referents here I'm not catching, but the theme of finding purpose in emptiness is satisfying. To step out on a very small twig, the mention of "light" and "roots" could even suggest (in a Persian context) pre-Islamic religion rising again into the devastated void.
I have only the one small suggestion, breaking the line at the comma, making
I’m too far away to know their gravity
or the pull of home beneath my feet
placing the heavy word "gravity" at focus of the line.
Beyond that, all I can say its that the poem is beautifully worded and paced - errors in interpretation are mine alone!
 Non-practicing atheist
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(03-20-2026, 03:28 AM)alonso ramoran Wrote: O Martyr
I know why the wind is without birdsong
and mothers humming
infants to milk-drunken sleep. .... a somewhat conventional beginning. The wind without birdsong and 'milk-drunken sleep' are both cliched
I have seen enough, how it could all end
in an instant, or an instant's
aftermath. My voice forms words .... powerful
you cannot hear; I'm scared that
I’m too far away to know their gravity, or
the pull of home beneath my feet. .... excellent development
Though in your heart I've hid .... 'in your heart' is cliched.
this sadness, an unflinching pact ... generally, adjectives weaken. 'Unflinching' is not necessary.
to earth that I'd return to see .... 'with' instead of 'to'?
through your garb of existence .... here the metaphor is getting confused. You don't 'see' through a garb. Maybe 'veil' or something more apt
and struggle, its memory is faded. Then,
I was not sure I hid anything at all.
Whoever it was I was, I am
called by light to bloom
and how these roots run deep. .... good ending
This is a powerful poem, but needs to be tighter IMO
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busker, dukealien,
Thank you for your thoughts! Made some adjustments with your feedback in mind.
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Draft 2 is significantly cleaner and clearer, without compromising the imagery. Good work.
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(03-20-2026, 03:28 AM)alonso ramoran Wrote: O Martyr
I know why the wind is without birdsong
and mothers humming infants to sleep.
I have seen enough, how it could all end
in an instant, or an instant's
aftermath. My voice forms words
you cannot hear; I'm scared that
I’m too far away to feel their gravity,
or the pull of home beneath the feet.
Though in your trust I've hid this grief,
this pact with earth that I'd return
to see out of your garment of existence
and struggle, its memory is entombed.
At night I'd wonder if I hid anything at all.
Whomever that I was, I hear
light calling me to bloom
and how these roots run deep.
This is a beautiful edit. Where the original had me drifting off a bit the poem now holds me all the way through. I paricularly like trust, entombed and at the end the change from it was to that. A great example of gentle but deft editing. Thanks for posting it.
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