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.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn