Friday, October 28, 2016

An unsung melancholia...

That  ghetto of thoughts...
Stinks with the unwashed-
emotional lesions,
Spread around the darkness-
Deep in that dying heart.
The walls of veins-
all scratched and tattered.
An urge. 
For the freedom from self.
Coyly smiling at the pain-
That assaulted the tears.
Who is butchering the light?
A hope that once existed!
When all beings rise up 
With that rising sun.
 A fear hides behind that corner.
In that isolated-
Ghetto of thoughts.

Sanjeeta Sharma Pokharel "Hridayaninadini"

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