How much is too much? Inosculate, squalid words on your sheet the layers that speak of my heavy mind are supposed to be easy to ingest? How? The air is as pellucid as my eye of misery. but the words do not stop here the words do not stick just to the head there is death occurring these days enough for me to write a lament a lament about this stomach this body this hour of existence. the hour that speaks of loss survival requires prayer hope and warriors who are we, I ask? the sufferers or the healers? The syntax is an old odium I refuse this hour I refuse the way you swallow my poetry my half- burnt mind is my solace and a tragedy. Disintegrated shreds of light.
Hi! The rise in the pandemic cases especially in India , in my city have taken a serious toll on my metal health and I am sure it is equally bad for the rest. This poem comes out from a place pain, misery. Thank you for reading.
Generally I would attach a link to my book, etc..but I do not feel right now so you can ignore.