>> Saturday, December 17, 2016

I left loneliness
on third step of life
it wasn’t second
it was probably before
I tripped on fourth-
I had a swollen eye,
indigo lips pursed around
spiteful gangs of secrets

it was an august figure,
with bent back, greasy gown,
and dirty slippers
rising, dipping
in a manger of brown water
surrendering to the slime-
soaring with whiff of roses

its crooked hand
pointed an undimensioned curve
every evening I crawled up there
lying ruined and smitten
bewailing the parting
when depraved, exhausted
it clung to me -
a dead thing
in fervid air.


Anonymous December 17, 2016 at 9:39 AM  

Awesome <3

Nidhi December 20, 2016 at 4:21 AM  

Exquisite and moving. I can imagine loneliness as a severe figure. From the first word to the last, it is etched in beauty; though the ruinous kind.

Keep writing because you are numero uno when it comes to poetry; natural and effortless.

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