The cuts prune life
The scrub of sandpaper
It hurts a lot sometimes
To bring the sheen forth
The self inflicted wounds
Hurt lesser somehow
Whether it is the injury then
Or our perceptiveness
That decides the pain.
One may shed his burden
To these waters of lake
While someone may drown
In the infinite drops of eye
The cut that oozes the sap
Also triggers a new shoot.
Delhi
2182
20.09 hrs
15.12.24
No comments:
Post a Comment