Just like a cigarette stub that's snubbed,
Till grey ashes remain hiding the glow,
No spark of a matchstick is large enough,
It's never enough to ignite the dead embers
Drowned in the river—a dead person,
Emulating life—who has ever lived through one?
Smiles, these strange contractions that mar the face,
Why don't you ever confess to your lies?
Sometimes there are tears,
As black as the heart,
As dead and lifeless,
Ritualistic, like clockwork, they leap out
from the soul that's fighting to float
The ocean is safe,
The ocean blurs the sky
The end of hope,
Isn't it the end of suffering?
YOU ARE READING
A budding writer's collection
PoetryJust a bunch of poems written as and when I feel to write them
