Scared sounds bounce off
deaf years,
As dead desire rises again,
to engulf in smoke,
Long forgotten suffocating fears
Of whispered screams perhaps,
And a few trivial smothered dreams;
'Tis nothing, to anyone but a delirious sleep
A compulsive dreamer, a destitute one at that;
There is a poet who lies by a dirty river,
Singing broken songs for each drop that flows past,
Awash with the crimson of strangled love
Geetakshi Arora
August 24, 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment