acrid thorns
burn against bleeding wounds
red, dark
and a fire
swallows moments
we preserved in hour-glass
not so long ago
dramatic
defines our tale
we smile and laugh
and behind the curtain
in closeted premises
of disheartening doom
love finds another fake room
quarantine me
my fever of distrust
and fragmented lies
knows not a vent
poison seeping out
through tired vessels
I close my eyes, and my mind
dreams will be my savior
today, those broken glasses scream
tomorrow, let hope be my chauffeur
This Poem is shared with Three Word Wednesday - Acrid, Dramatic, Quarantine.
Loved the second verse. so true!
ReplyDeleteThank You :-)
Delete"my fever of distrust
ReplyDeleteand fragmented lies" - Superb lines Amrit :)
Thanks Jyotsna :-)
Deletewith hope still
ReplyDeletehow can we go wrong...
let those dreams carry you on
as a balloon....
Perfect :-)
Deletemy mumme used to say ... no use to cry over a glass of spilled mik, because broken glass brings luck ... smiles
ReplyDeleteAgreed :-)
DeleteHope is the chauffeur that takes life forward despite everything! Beautifully written :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Pooja :-)
DeleteIn love with the closing lines...
ReplyDelete"let hope be my chauffeur:"
Thank You Satya :-)
DeleteOh man you are brilliant! Mindblowing this was. What beautiful lines, what a wonderful flow.
ReplyDeleteI AM JEALOUS!!
No no no no ... it's the other way round, with me being jealous of your writings ;-)
Delete