šĀ The Poem
From painters old, who once were dear,
I come with fire, to torch the land,
I see but nothing, writings smear.
A god is walking on the sand.
I walk with Dante, his world profound,
I see the devil in disguise,
I hear no music, a lame sound.
I read no poetry, but lies.
To those who copy common things,
And think there is where lies the way,
I curse that boredom that one then brings.
The hell with poetry, I say.
Cuz on the edge, there is the beauty,
And there is where the war is lost,
Is common things that absolutely.
Is killing poetry, the most.
There is nobody in this land,
To give their life just for a word,
These poetesses killed the lad.
And did it with a blunted sword.
Their love was on the money only,
The fame caused them to give in,
So they have written texts so phoney.
That the Seer considered those a sin.
š„ The Torchbearerās Curse
ā A Manifesto in Verse
By Al Konda Ā· The Mythical Poet
š„ Watch the poetic video: North Windās Weeping ā The Torchbearerās Curse
š Latest book: Snowdropy ā The Master of Love (Bilingual Edition)
āThe Seer does not whisper. He roars.ā
The Torchbearerās Curse is not just a poemāitās a gauntlet thrown at the feet of a world that has forgotten the weight of words. It is a cry from the wilderness, a lament for what poetry once was and a curse upon what it has become. This is not a gentle musing or a plea for attention. It is an indictment of a culture that has diluted the sacred art of verse into a commodity, a betrayal of truth for the sake of ālikesā and fleeting fame.
In an age where poetry is often reduced to Instagram snippets, self-branding soundbites, or soft romanticism stripped of substance, The Torchbearerās Curse burns with defiance. It rejects the hollow trends that have turned poetry into a performance for clout and returns the Word to its rightful place: an altar of fire, blood, and unapologetic truth. This poem is a call to arms for those who still believe in poetry as resistance, as a force that can shake the foundations of complacency and awaken the soul.
A Pilgrimage Through a Desolate Land
The poem opens with a Seer who carries the weight of tradition, invoking the āpainters oldā whose art was once revered. But the world they enter is barren, smeared with meaningless āwritingsā and haunted by a god who walks aimlessly on the sand. This is not a divine vision but a desolate oneāa world where beauty has been forsaken, and the sacred has been profaned.
The Seer walks with Dante, that eternal guide through the inferno, whose Divine Comedy mapped the heights of heaven and the depths of hell. Yet even in this profound company, the Seer sees only devils in disguise, hears no music, and reads no poetryāonly lies. The reference to Dante is no mere literary nod; it is a deliberate alignment with a tradition of poetry that grappled with the eternal, that dared to name sin and salvation in the same breath. In contrast, the modern landscape of verse is a wasteland of imitation and mediocrity, where ācommon thingsā are copied without thought, and boredom reigns supreme.
The Curse: A Rejection of the Profane
The heart of The Torchbearerās Curse is its unrelenting condemnation of those who have betrayed poetryās purpose. The Seer curses the poets who chase fame and fortune, who wield āblunted swordsā and produce āphoneyā texts that the Seerāthe poemās voice of truthādeems sinful. These are not poets but pretenders, poetesses and lads who have traded the edge of beauty for the safety of the mainstream. They have killed poetry, not with bold rebellion, but with cowardice and conformity.
The poemās structure mirrors its fury. Its six stanzas, each a quatrain with an ABAB rhyme scheme, evoke the discipline of traditional forms while delivering a message that is anything but conventional. The rhythm is deliberate, almost incantatory, as if the Seer is casting a spellāor a curseāupon the world. The language is raw and unpolished, reflecting the urgency of the message: poetry is dying, and those who claim to love it are complicit in its murder.
The Edge of Beauty: Where the War Is Fought
At its core, The Torchbearerās Curse is a manifesto for those who live on the edgeāwhere beauty is not a product but a battleground. The poem insists that true poetry is found in the risk, the sacrifice, the willingness to give oneās life ājust for a word.ā This is not hyperbole but a recognition of poetryās power to transcend the mundane and touch the divine. The āwarā the poem speaks of is not just against bad verse but against a culture that prioritizes comfort over courage, popularity over profundity.
The image of the āSeerā as a roaring figure of judgment is particularly potent. This is no passive observer but a prophet who sees through the faƧade of modern poetry and demands accountability. The Seerās roar is a wake-up call, a reminder that poetry is not a hobby or a brandāit is a calling, a responsibility, a fire that must be tended with reverence.
For the Mythmakers, the Fire-Walkers
The Torchbearerās Curse is written for the real ones:
ā The mythmakers who weave stories that endure
ā The language-bearers who carry the weight of words across generations
ā The fire-walkers who tread the perilous path of truth
It is not for those who seek fame or chase numbers. It is not for those who write to be seen but for those who write because they mustābecause the Word demands it.
This poem is a rallying cry for poets to reclaim their craft, to reject the commodification of beauty, and to write with the ferocity of those who know what is at stake. It is a reminder that poetry, at its best, is a form of resistance against a world that would rather scroll than feel, consume than create.
š„ Join the Fire
As you read The Torchbearerās Curse, let it burn through you. Let it remind you of the power of words to wound, to heal, to resurrect. Share this poem with those who still believe in poetryās alchemy, who know that a single line can shift the axis of the world. Write your own verses in responseānot for likes, not for followers, but for the truth that lives on the edge of beauty.
This is not about fame. This is not about numbers.
This is about the Word.
Will you carry the torch?
š© Author: Al Konda ā The Mythical Poet
āļø Creator of The Seer, Snowdropy, and Rising from Ashes
š www.alkonda.com
š„ YouTube | šļø X | š Facebook | šø Instagram | šµ TikTok
For collaborations, interviews, or mythic conversations:
š§ Contact: densartist@gmail.com
The Mythical Poet (Al Konda) is a Romanian-English poet whose work unites form and fire. He writes in rhyme and symbolism, insisting that poetry must sing, speak, structure, symbolize, strike, and bring joyāthe pillars of The Konda Principle, his philosophy of the art. Across 40+ books and countless performances, Al has cultivated a living, multimedia poetry: each poem arrives with a literary analysis, an essay for readers, a song or duet, and visual art bearing his sigil.
His mythic epic The Seer ā Deluxe Edition rekindles the ancient vocation of the poet as seer; A Name I Never Spoke and Flame Without Shadow explore love, devotion, and inner transformation; ongoing daily releases blend classical poetics with modern productionāYouTube premieres, blog essays, and social dialogues that invite audiences to sing the poem.
Alās stance is clear: craft is not a cage but a sanctuary; beauty is not a costume but a covenant. In an age of noise and spectacle, The Mythical Poet offers disciplined music, moral clarity, and the courage to turn sorrow into song.
Discover more at alkonda.com Ā· YouTube: @artistden2836 Ā· Instagram: @autoralkonda Ā· X: @konda_al.
