Gooseflesh.

Can you tell
Fear, from the
Gradual numbness
Catching on to your feet?
Like brambles and nettles,
Do you carry them around
Like unconscious badges
From robust strolls in dewy morns?

Or when at nights,
You dive underneath
Your coarse blankets and linen sheets,
Are you cold, or in hiding
From your skin, weighing on you
Like an armour?
If your breathing does not seem like
The solution wine glasses are made of,
Don’t let it clench your throat
As a rope made of
Question marks would.

***

Mutilation.

Does my blood remind you
Of war paints, war zones
Mourners, murderers?
Are you nauseated yet
By the acrid stench
That trickles down your perfectly arched back?
I hope the answers you seek
Lie somewhere among
The carcasses of your past identities
You now deny access through
Barbed wires of your present pretensions.

I’m out of tissues and blotting papers.

Several attempts later,
I hung around slovenly,
Strung of halfhearted melodies
And smokes mingled into
Frosty nights.

***

Precipice.

Is there a Rise without
A Fall?
Prison walls could not mute
My jarring thoughts, an
Antithesis to my public side.
The inmates leave,
Their voices remain
In dank memories of
Worn corners.

Don’t come too close;
It’s contagious.

16 November 2016

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