To all the dead trees-

Source

swim across
attest the pain
sink into the lake of grief
watch and convulse, 
the narration-
the blue oblong face of emotions-
it disappoints me each day,
you and your flattery
my small body,
small, petite chin 
that thrusts no life anymore.
Watch a face again,
think about it,
the slippery texture
grains allover the body
blurred, overgown opinions

I am sad flower today, trying to be the moon
but the moon is always sad, 
I tell myself to watch the moving crowd
to feel the concrete tree
and the still landscape of stagnancy exists
a pill of loss and convulsions all day long.
-----------------------------------------

I have a book- Crimson skins. Read it if still you have not. on kindle, pothi etc.

I am happy to announce I have a poem in this beautiful anthology- 
 Hecate Magazine.