Sugar granules on my eyelids
define the numb, static voice
beneath the waves of poetry,
The times flutter on asymmetrical length
hypnotical lifeless mellow tunes.
Words break, poetry aborts
A mother takes a life of her son.
It’s sharp. Black.
As I think, a tree detaches a leaf
As I swirl, a star weeps
End. End. End.
Nature perspires wax,
drooling loose vibrations,
Ink is lacking from my blood.
My blood is blue in reverse order, stale.
How many more tantrums?
Time is satirical,
and my body sinks in pits of crime
Analogies weep and mother smirks.
Time ruins beautiful things,
spring- Ataxia of Poetry.
P.S- It’s not a complete Eulogy, but it’s quite insane to think what if one day it is?