There was too much, violence in the
house. I walk through the pathways-
of divided family. As if waylaid
by the thugs. I am stranded bereft of-
all my achievements, fixating at withdrawl.
The menu
alters.
I go
hungry.
The toothache persists. Life is
still.The vision seethes without wings.
Pulsating silence.
There is no voice.
Like mannequins, we dance
without geniality. The master
is nowhere. Who was pulling
the strings?
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: July 26th, 2018 19:49
- Category: Nature
- Views: 25
- User favorite of this poem: Laura🌻.
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