A New Poem: “The Terror. The Horror.”

Back in June, I excerpted from a new book of poetry by Kaaviya Elangkumarabahu. Kaaviya followed that up with a poem on Completeness, and today I present yet another on the horrific fire that killed 17 horses at Saratoga Harness. Thank you, Kaaviya.

“The Terror. The Horror.”
by Kaaviya Elangkumarabahu

As I lay,
Settle in for the night,
Into my dry straw bedding,
Itching,
Lightly,
Gentle against my sides,
I heave – something feels weird,
Different,
Like I just want to be free … out of my stall, for good,
Though, this time,
Not to savour the wind and cool breeze,
Savour its delight without any pressure,
Even if that might be,
A lifelong dream.
Today,
I feel,
As if I just want to be out –
Just,
Just in case something dwells,
Happens,
Comes…
I stand tall,
And close my eyes,
Blink…

Oh, what is that?
I cough,
Jerk awake,
And hear,
My fellow friends coughing,
Spluttering.
I neigh,
Into the air,
But no one,
No one seems to hear me,
Maybe they can’t hear me…

Oh, what,
What’s that,
That crackling noise,
Oh, and here,
Here it comes,
From above my head,
I shriek.
And on the stall opposite,
I can hear my friend,
Kicking her fabric stall guard,
Tossing her head,
Her hooves’ motion – I can hear,
And oh,
Wait,
My eyes,
They’re,
So,
Stinging,
Watery.
I..
I can’t see – everything,
Everything’s black,
And oh,
Was that a wave,
A spark,
Of red, orange, or yellow?
And oh,
That scent – was it?
That, is that,
Smoke?!

I shriek,
Neigh,
Kick out,
“No!!!” My mind screams,
Solid.
Wood.
Behind me.

I turn round,
I just wanna shrug up,
Press against my friend,
My stall’s wood,
But I turn,
However,
Kick the fabric guard to my front,
Almost rear,
But,
No,
I decide,
The ceiling,
It’s too low,
Might smash myself,
So I throw,
Throw in,
My eyes,
Stinging,
Foggy.

I throw my head down,
Charge – as if I can,
Exert my whole force,
Every ounce,
Every milligram of it,
Towards the fabric guard,
Throw myself in,
It feels like I’m falling,
Something’s on my ears,
After me,
I feel.
“Snap!” The guard cracks,
I plunge,
The metal of the rubber-coated “noodle” clinking open.
I hear more snaps,
“Clink!” Oh,
I can smell,
Sense, almost,
Maybe my friends are free,
But there,
Oh,
That crackle,
Above my head,
As if it’s chasing me,
I plunge,
Not knowing where,
My nose,
Though,
Pointing me forward,
At glimpse of some freshness amidst the grey,
Blinding black smoke…
I can see,
Something,
Open, though…

“Snap! Snap!”
My heart,
Again,
Skips a beat,
Something embeds,
Almost,
Or cuts-like,
Pains,
Into my chest,
I neigh,
Out loud,
Whatever it is,
Something,
So –
Burning,
Hot,
Sensational,
Catches upon my ears,
“Must be that beast!”
My mind yells,
As I gallop,
Full on,
My legs as if they’d trip at any given moment.
But something,
Fresh,
Guiding me,
My nose,
Feels,
Against the thick,
Now growing distant by the stride smoke.
As I hear something,
Snap so hard,
Crackle behind me in the distance.

My eyes,
Oh,
The sting.
They barely allow me to impress where I am,
As I follow my nose,
And the wind,
Whatever,
Or wherever,
It might be,
My legs,
Choking upon themselves,
My heart pounding against my ribs –
I cough,
Splutter,
Dunno how longer I can keep things up,
But it never seems my body lets go,
I stride,
More and more,
Wide, strides, now,
Nor do I feel like escaping the whip,
Or running with the wind,
Enjoying the breeze.
My heart races,
But it never seems to stop –
Suddenly – I halt,
Fresh,
Fresh air,
Again.

I toss my head round,
My eyes still not clear,
Maybe the beast’s off my ears,
Still they sting,
Accumulate the hot,
All the same…

Something,
It feels,
Familiar.
I sense,
Breathe the air,
Stride forward.

I smell,
The exhausted,
Downhearted scent of fellow horses,
Some known,
Maybe from the race?
Some unknown.
And, was that –
A human?
I trot forward,
The tint of smoke still alive in the air,
As wood,
I think,
Snaps,
Fire crackles,
Far into the distance,
I neigh,
Out loud,
Piercing the dewy,
Yet dry air,
For my friends…
No response.

I smell…
Sweat?
Someone,
Sweating.
The breath of other fellow equines filling the air,
Not close to me though.

My eyes slowly de-blur,
Clear,
Still stinging,
As a human,
A hand,
Comes,
Approaches me,
I shift my weight back to my hind,
Oh,
How,
Painful…
Something,
Liquid,
Seeps from my side,
The human,
Who I don’t even know,
But sense,
Familiarity through my olfactory cues,
Proceeds to me with a rope,
Which she ties,
As I stand at a relative distance,
And then,
She leads,
Me,
To,
Well,
The barn – or,
No,
Seems some smoke’s still somewhere.
Who knows where I might be going?
I twitch my skin,
As the light of dawn shines in,
Slow,
Gentle,
Yet stinging on my muscles,
I breathe,
‘Where are my friends?
What,
What happened to them?
Did they run free?
Oh,
Why,
Why did they have to keep us confined?’
I ponder,
Sigh,
As I hear,
Not one,
Not two,
Multiple,
Shrieks – bloodcurdling,
Far,
In the distance,
Behind me.