Next,
When you turn
to read, the pages
of my book;
Turn it not, with
Your blood soaked hands
that
it had not taken
any oracle
with any of my tainted wish.
I am that omnibuses
of a silent read
that had been
Severed thousand times
by the hilt of scimitar curved blades
Fighting umpteenth wars
Now
Take no vengeance on me, further;
with the guilt of your eyes; read
Where culpability evaporates
Between me and you
Striking images enhance the beauty of this engaging poem.
mind speaks the burden of the soul yet voices is never heard…every thought is only in you and me the reader and the writer…
Very aptly said! So much thanks poet suzette portes san jose.
What the poet is going through, the intensity of thought is portrayed with much pathos…
So much thanks poet Pushmaotee Subrun Ji.
So much thanks dear Sir Vijay Nair Ji.