"
I Hold it in
my hand and look
It asks for
whether I have a painted face
One to
absorb, one to reflect
One to see
and one to show
Faces, I see
at the edges, sharp
Known-unknown,
before cutting through my fingers
Drawing
blood which screams their identity
Scattered
pieces of broken edges
Carrying red
droplets, freshly licked out of veins
Blood, for
what else may paint
What lies
beneath shadows, upon canvas,
Of sight
through blind eyes, or
Layer of
petty ignorance we choose
And while
attempting to wipe it all clean
I lose skin
atop bones, hollowed
out of
tussle amidst truth and lies,
This stands
now as if a Skelton
Retrieved
from an age-old grave, screaming
Its tale of
regrets and fear
And while I
bring out the courage to face-off myself
I watch in
horror its bid to stand-up
And watch me
watch it in mixed emotion
Should I be
afraid, or I should be brave
Perception
changes when you stand near a grave
I watch the
sky turning grey
While day
comes to an end, and
Night slowly
making its way
Bringing
along plenty of darkness to let me hide, yet
Only to make
me lay upon bed with self,
Choice of
love and hate on offer,
For darkness
shows what light manages to hide,
Amidst
moments of confrontation, while
I look into
my eyes, only
To get drown
in self-orgasm and deep breathes."
By:
Praveen Parasar
Date:
24/08/2015
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