Recovery

 

 

Beware of those cobbles, trample not on the moss

Of the land,

Where drifts the cortege, through stench and ravines,

Where crows feed on phlegm and flesh of lizards,

And floods drain urine and mortal dirt of shame

Into the river where bathed your ancestors.

Where civilization thrives on the breasts of whore and baby tooth,

And cistern of lust are engorged with

Pain, blood and mutilation.

 

 

Trust not those wrinkles, nor the motion of mandible,

Nor the charred skin of lies.

What are words, at the brink of dawn?

What are imprints, when deluded by the search?

But sullen shadows of ancestral might,

That grow on all drab and destitute.

Beware of those steps, follow not the trace

To the land of obscure evenings.

 

Written by : Srijeeta

Photo: Dev

Author: admin_plipi

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