By Gunjita Suman
A lovers' triad, my missing gauntlet
My missing outlet to let free the haunches
Of ghost-riding problems that I
Have no eagerness to deal with;
No claustrophobic tacit of avoiding glances,
The red in my heart stopping the black onset of ostensible points
In simmering apologies and blunders,
I’m laid to rest in my blood corset.
Uninterrupted flows of blinded conversations,
Mixing all this ego into outgoing chances.
I am reading books of different genres
And getting the same action, the same moral
Haranguing the severed head of embossed secrets.
We were, but don't remain, friends, and
It's killing my past, but my future takes precedence.
My ego is stroked by mountains and
Fountains of faith and love. Meanwhile,
My heart is a mangled mess of my own worth.
A forlorn, forgotten guitar to the side
A musical travesty of all my plight.
Dancing divinities and crumbling sanity,
How could you not feel the anger in me
The agony, the last charity?
The night never changes. The horses never neigh.
I stand tall in a mountain of disarray.
I need someone to tell me
That hallucinations in my cortex will not
Render me unable to speak,
For I have faced bespoke trials
That have shaped my destiny.