When all
that you care for is the next step
But all
you can feel is the fan above
Revolving
in contempt of all that you can’t
As if
scouting for the angle that makes you seem
Worse than
a penniless father in a brothel
The
tragedy seems more profound than ever
Like being
stranded in the middle
Of the Brahmaputra
And the
hand you’re seeking
Is in
somebody else’s;
Crimson in
the watery final sunset.
No comments:
Post a Comment