By-Nitya Kumar


It begins with the site of a shivering pianist on a broken piano

A poet lost in the realm of sorrow

The image of a hundred blackbirds bursting out of a tree

I, the tree

Left alone, naked, melancholic

My branches, deposition of a silent applause

My loneliness, repetitive

A hurricane stab in the heart of a black hole

My anxiety,

A drowning shipwreck of breathless contemplation

The shipwreck, my house

Housing an eternal air of mourning

A lingering dilemma

A stale vow

A perishing soul with a buried wound

The manifestation of a bleeding array of thoughtless thoughts

The taste of a burdened mind fresh off the stove

Served with the heat of an impending doom.



This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon:


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