In my soreness and
shadow, the poem speaks. In bleached
eyes, you burn without sparks.
The despondent moon
will unsee the sunset and barge
in the lake. A lone tree starts trembling.
It was scary to count
the stars, one by one entering the black
hole. There was no mercy.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: November 1st, 2021 19:48
- Category: Nature
- Views: 17
Offline)
Comments1
I don't know
in your choice imagery, that analogy of a black hole
could be easily swapped for that forever sleep
we know awaits us, eventually
and some, seek mercy in sleep
only
they seldom, align that same sleep
with its consequence of disappearance
and its compressively sans, promise
of non existence...
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