Babylon

 

“Babylon” is a mythic, dark, and symbolic poem about a man who believes he has been spiritually claimed or doomed by an otherworldly femme-fatale figure named Babylon.

She is not just a woman — she represents temptation, obsession, spiritual corruption, and transformation.

The poem blends reality, memory, myth, and hallucination to show how desire and despair can consume a person until they lose themselves entirely.

This is a poem about:

A haunted past

A wandering soul

A seductive supernatural presence

The surrender of one’s identity

A descent into mystical obsession

The collapse of self leading to rebirth. (“a new Genesis”)

 (A lone voice whispers)

I once heard a wild story of a rebellious, seductive woman. Hailing from somewhere deliciously dark.

Down West Side, East Washington, DC.

While lost somewhere in the middle of a seemingly never-ending night.

Drinking expensive whiskey.

After I landed from leaving my old life behind in the army, in Corpus Christi,

Wondering, as I drowned my sorrows.

If my old love from Russia, Katalina Brzezinski.

Would ever miss me? 

You know the ones.

Those good old loose Mephistophelian nights. 

It's there I heard a story about a voodoo woman who whispers so softly, which said she hooks you captivatingly with magical words.

If she only spoke your name but once.

No matter what you're drinkin'.

No matter what you're thinkin'.

What you’re wearing.

Man or woman.

At the end of that long good old dark, seemingly endless, Mephistophelian night.

No matter how hard you fight.

How hard you look for her long shadow over your shoulders.

Left or right, after she's gone.

If she only speaks your name.

No matter what pain you’re going through at the time of your naming.

You’ll just be another poor, tainted soul; she’s just done with claiming. 

I once heard of a similar New Age mystic.

And now I know it was her. 

When I was younger, in my prime.

And drinking red wine, Lost in Downtown 

Memphis, Tennessee. 

Lost somewhere, talking to one of her devotees called Louie.

In a backyard club, filled with flashing strobe lights.

As The Eagles played live their mythical , Hotel California.

In the middle of that wild night.

That good old apocalyptic, Mephistophelian night.

He talked of a dark-eyed Bayou goddess. Of whom I should beware in these parts.

A woman so beautiful beyond all compare.

Who whispers so softly.

So captivatingly and seductively to all who dare stare.

And if she only speaks your God-given secretive name but once.

No matter what you're drinkin'.

No matter what you're thinkin'.

At the end of that dark, seemingly endless, voyeuristic night.

It’ll be your soul she’ll be wearing as a new fur coat.

Before riding out onto The Great Cosmic Plains.

In her red and black Ford Mustang GT as her Pale White Horse.

For she hails from the dangerous Age of Cataclysm's.

And when I was told that unholy truth, oh, why didn't I learn?

For her sweetly spoken words to me now herald a bringer of a new dawn.

Of divine encounters.

The furious fire and the crazy fury before The Great Sensuous Cleansing.

A new Black Genesis for the Flesh.

Before True Peace and Love can return.

I once spoke, beer-brave, to that wild, rebellious woman. Sitting with the aura of a blazing midday sun.

In the corner of an empty bar, smiling like a snake charmer. In Down West, East Washington, DC.

And as she drew me towards her.

Then whispered so softly.

So captivatingly and spoke my spirit name. Making me feel like I was drowning.

Swirling, lost in her soul's ever-expanding universe's bright lights.

These are now my last words that I'll ever type.

As I now patiently wait, like good old Louie.

Just now, another of the many new slaves of her New Age.

Waiting for her rhythmic, two-one-two knock. On my front door.

After she said my God-given secretive name that crazy night.

Outside Bar 32, as we French-kissed in the falling rain.

And all I can now do is wait in vain. 

For my poor soul has been well and truly claimed.

By the crow-haired goddess called Babylon.

And my soul-purging and grand cleansing will soon begin.

My own version of a new Genesis.

Now I'm alone but patiently waiting. 

Not hiding but just starin

g out in the long shadows. 

Watching for my dark-eyed Goddess.

Called Babylon to arrive.

As the morning sun rises.

(C) Copyright John Duffy

Image shared under fair usage policy.