i sit outside in the incensed moon,
galloping my swallow droplets of fear,
a knuckle breaking knuckle,
what’s the fear of this cricket chirping?
the modals of life.
these hands are burrows of islands,
small and large, a heightened hue of black spot.
I sit and inhale the ambiguity here,
the cracks on the white wall,
plants dying, plants blooming.
Regeneration is about loss: life a flat truth.
These fears came streaming like disguised prayers,
cinnamon hands become prayers often.
I sit and break my fingers,
defying cellophane face of morbid love
over and over and over.
i sniff the air and hunt.
I hunt like sunflower, killing the weeds of infestation.
murdering the portrait scenic chins of nothingness.
i defy times at times.
whatโs the fear of this cricket chirping?
the modals of life.
these hands are burrows of islands,
small and large, a heightened hue of black spot.
Marvelous, it’s so much of things said here.
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I feel I am way too ahead of my age. But I guess that’s okay.
Thank you bro for your words!
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Beautiful poem
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Thank you ๐ธ๐ธ
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Your welcome
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What a wonderful read, this was! ๐
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Thank you
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Everything you do appears draped in magic. You never misstep.
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Aww๐ธ๐ธ
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Good one!
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‘These fears came streaming like disguised prayers’ – my favourite line.โค๏ธ
This was another beautiful poetry.๐ผ
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Thank you Sameera.
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Nice poem.
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Nice n thoughtful blog ๐
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Excellent poem ๐๐๐
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I sit and break my fingers,
defying cellophane face of morbid love
over and over and over.”
Oh dear sometimes you just break my heart, you write so well.
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You are kind moushmi.
Thank you
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“Regeneration is about loss: life a flat truth.”..such is the essence of life.
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Fantastic.
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โค๏ธ
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