How does the clay sprout? (when
darkness) noiselessly tears apart the petals of light;
here they are born— those who carry in their chests
a violent storm, desiring the uprooting of another sky.
A country (or a wound) stained with the color of hatred,
where certain creatures shaped like humans
bury the seeds of destruction inside their own shadows.
They smile and from their smiles drips
a sharp, blue venom toward another’s prayer—
how does this inhuman soil ever find life?
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Author:
Prasun Goswami (
Offline) - Published: June 3rd, 2026 02:08
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Paul Bell
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Comments3
It is for the splendid images created in this poem that I give the fave they are painted in ink of blood. The metaphors are splendid as well
I'm sure that sheep look at humans, and think to themselves, they're easily lead.
The world is on the brink.
well written
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