One does not feel calm, but raged
At unknown, vague
As if a leftover cloud of storm
Looking for thunders back again,
While hanging there in utter silence
Amidst blackened air and flickering stars
Sketching its own paradox,
To grew affix or to weed out self
To carry that skin or to gouge away the flesh,
Chocking at words as if unable to breathe
Gasps for air, for being drunk on storms, one
Finds it hard to get high on watered glasses, and
Tragedy of night lies beneath the goblet of fire
Where darkness grows in all its grandness,
And mocks one holding the goblet, for it knows
One must burn self at the end, no other way
To defy, for darkness would exist for ever
Till one gives away self, flesh and bone,
It must be served blood, to keep the fire raging
Imitating those stars, watching one still
While night grows, and darker."
By: Praveen Parasar
Date: 15/6/2015
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