Thursday, 12 April 2018

in the times of hopelessness

frigid, is the feeling of skin, desired
with scaling layers of blood smeared 


burn, not physical, cover whole soul

and they said its un-burnable 


vindictive eyes bare it all

parched, without hope of gaze


cracking spouts, in licked creases

pleading, to drenches in gashing 

dried are nostrils, hurts to breath
heart is still.................so still

to hear if she is there...
if she calls his name.... at all.. may be... perhaps...!

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