Sunday, 7 April 2024

The survival of dead

 


The shadows draw the body

Beckon them to follow

Within defined outlines

The vessel rocks in the ripples

The residue of conjured up tides

Like a moonlit dawn of time

For the wick glows brighter

Often than the splinter

That ignites the first spark

Now it gasps on the ground

Amidst the trampling smother

As the eyes are glued to torch

That fills the darkened lines

Where every shadow has a body

The last chance the dead have

To meet those of their type

For the survivors often spend life

To save those that have demised.

Delhi

2134

22.54 hrs

7.4.24

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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