A nation built of corridors
without homes or windows.
Just hallways with ceilings.
Ceilings have cataracts,
they watch without seeing.
Scarecrows govern from balconies
that overlooks gates with locks
Locks are clicked shut,
from outside by tradition.
Innocence is raised in basements
then filed like documents
in a cabinet of hunger.
All drawers are labelled as "lies".
Here paper is poisonous
and ink can infect tongues.
Tongues are buried before the body.
Justice is just a rumour
with a perfumed shadow.
Shadows perform on footsteps of verdicts.
A mausoleum with polished floors
and trembling feet.
Dancing away..
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Author:
Aman 12 (
Offline) - Published: October 17th, 2025 02:31
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 16
Offline)
Comments1
Full of symbolism this poem speaks in metaphor. Well crafted.
thank you for the comment
You are most welcome
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