Who knoweth the serrated pangs
of the piercing of poisoned dart
Alas! it pierced and pierced.
That nostalgia of the suffocating breath
memories flash in visuals
history held the pen in hand
bleed the pages…
prior being written.
the shrill and softness of the yearn
the quivering voice ,lost in sunburn,
drips through the sides with sweat or raindrops
as the oozing blood from the bruised heart gets frozen…
Brush, I aside the reason,
why and what for,should such happen,
isn’t trust , the jewel of faith,
blind how can be then a soul of reason…
wounded which my existence by charring words
turning me to ash,
…ablaze my integrity and conscience…
I sunk in oblivion
Knoweth not the world
neither can e’er
wish I, the sun dawns
when the ephemeral second arrives
stand when we across…and the mirror shines
Till then thou ! and me shall remain away
from the clutches of time…
photocredit:blog.selfarcheology.com
soumyav 