deepundergroundpoetry.com
a rambling repetitiveness of an incurable kind
~of light & hope's
incongruence
an open staged, a strange charging
extempore, fires electric branchlets, in
a blink’s switched on pitch-black
twilights
[an exhaustive neverbirthing
pre-rain trauma, devoid of
even its petrichor haunts]
challenge
over
the daylong glaring window suns
in slanted entrance- irrepressibly
knotting the twisted minds
in discrete sterilizations
an alignment’s hope
in an ethereal composure
hangs clouded in
the unbecoming
probabilities
the days
shrink to breathless gaps
with constant monotony
laid between
the scorching~dimness, their
enormously lying shades
cast in moody whims
not much ironic
are their cancerous
ways, gotten self eaten
in nefarious vapidities
their numbers flapped
on and on and over
in incremental cycles
for what?
~the dilapidated vessel
of the senses
basal oral deck’s a supine
roof- an insomniac’s unsettling
aquiver phlegm realm, that
dares not talk
of its yearned a dryly
cemented eloquence
eyes wink
in faked resonance
of an eon’s somnolence
still its
impoverished hells
yell in an aching need
to sleep just some
sleep
their frailty lids starved
of any pinkpuffed dreams
spiral unconscious
from faint memories
to anorexic near-deaths
& never gain freedom
to tightly ever pull closer
in an interlocking
closure
had already allowed
them to kill whole but
without saying so
rotten blatantly
little distortions
over the corroding facades
frustrates (un)reasonably
more unto a racing
apocalytic totality
for what?
~the end. is the
beginning
the dusts. in an
unending discombobulating
nexus of fissioning missions
to nosedived agglutinations
clingingly over brims
the holed senses, the hoped
sonorous hope haven’t been
reached yet even once
unlike
the noisy bubbles
ditchingly touched in easy boom bursts
of their scented bubblegummed
wor(l)ds
where
even the languishing
famine-hit split tipped hair strands
are not stranded enough
in remote sonders
~all what remains
is what it feels…
the hand picked cues
in the seeming moments of deviance
only stumble into the infinite shards
of mysterious shatters-
each needling the peeping greys
kneading them unrecognizable
to an irreparably stunted paling pulp
in their encountered serendipity
…of an enigma
is there an antidote
to counteract
an ineffable poetic submission
in such epical deaths
for what?
Published 15th May 2018
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Anonymous
- Edited 27th Dec 2019 12:45pm
15th May 2018 10:39am
<< post removed >>
15th May 2018 5:22pm
Thank you dear Melia...ur mere presence here, ur reads n wise words u reflect from my scribbled nothingness are blessings..much respects n love adored one xx:)
17th May 2018 1:36am
Uma, sometimes you leave me breathless in your uncanny ability to convey your message in such an unconventional and yet perfectly relatable way.
27th May 2018 4:14am
awe-inspiring, there is so much depth pact into this that one needs to read it several times. Definitely, noteworthy.
