It has been long since this cigarette was lit,
Centuries we’ve spent in counting stars,
Infinity has fallen through the bottomless pit,
Though we haven’t found the liquid mars
Our resilience - ever redesigned,
Society layered in thick skin and thin,
Ubiquitous anomalies of free will confined -
Preventing us to peer within
The lunar glare down a suspicious zenith,
Inspecting our glasses half-saturated with sorrow,
Like the priest blessing a prisoner of faith,
Who awaits the gallows on the morrow
Tis’ a sacred crime to follow,
A necessary enigma to illustrate the tune,
That serenades the sensory prison to swallow -
Inexplicable crypt of a lifeless rune
As we feel our way out an umbral haze,
Recognizing the footsteps we find on the snow,
With catalytic obedience awaiting end of days,
Blind to the cigarette, and the truth aglow.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
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