Skip to main content

pages of leaves

 There are gardens that bloom

with overflowing vines

I've planted a story in each of those roots

i see their leaves that nurture and wither 

they are mine

dead vine leaves, veins showing

I've picked up a few

they'll stay with me

they are mine

pieces of my stories

they may get crushed or forgotten

they are mine.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

monster

Another one was slain today It was a powerful blow strength that comes out with furious thoughts massacring all in its way there's no mercy, no pity, no empathy nothing matters but that one thought that swings the blow You breathe, it's over and then a realisation that you are lesser human now

images - dead ones

a series of images I see when I close my eyes - writing them down for the first time This one's the protesting dead ones. " It's a high metal gate that is shut. there is a guard on the inside of it and an angry mob on the outside. The mob is made of dead people. they have no eyes and their flesh - white, almost non-existent. They are dressed in white dhotis and banians and have turbans wrapped around their heads. A few of them carry things in their hands, could be sticks. They are screaming, they want to get through to the other side of the gate."

noise

It's silent, it's complete and it's whole. It's pervading, the insides are shattering You grow accustomed to one and the other one envelopes. Clutter, insanity. Relief isn't got from silence, but relief can't be sought from noise!!