Bristles in the Air

I draw a running time
Mirroring my face
Towards a broken space
Freezing my wrinkles –
An old age adage

I search the deepest treasure
Digging my grave again and again.
I stitch my remains –
A cadaver for my own dissection

I war on my weakest spot
And win a loss
Comprehending the incomprehensible.
Rooted underground
I search my broken twigs

I paint the darkest colour
On a blank canvas
And hawk protruding night
to prey on my thoughts
with bristles in the air

3 thoughts on “Bristles in the Air

  1. Nalini Srivastava

    Tapeshwar ji,with your usual aplomb you have created cutting lines to create the sharp bristles in the air which leave reader marked with their nuances


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