The night reeks of my thoughts and desires;
Nights that aren't dead,
Desires unmoving,
And preyed upon by reminiscence.
How the pile keeps getting bigger,
And bigger.
And how every other night dies,
With one of my thoughts,
Or desires.
Pure, but still reeking.
Like those satis burning, on their husbands' funeral pyres;
Women, that aren't dead,
Husbands unmoving,
But to keep their essence.
How everything burns, with vigor
And rigor.
And how they go one by one, as a reprise
From those lots,
Willingly, or forced into such fires.
Alive, yet heaven seeking.
"Statutory Warning: Pretty Hard Stuff. Read at your own risk."
I liked the 2nd stanza more....but feel that the poem is incomplete..don't know why..but hv this feeling that the poet didn't pen down his thoughts in their entirety...
ReplyDeleteHmm...it wasn't about the thoughts. It was about how they die. I did think of two more stanzas, depicting how they are born with dawn. But both the extremities in the same poem doesn't make any sense. It would still feel like what I'm trying to achieve...!
ReplyDeletewhat do you say about that?
nw its smooth read :)
ReplyDeleteIf you say so...!!
ReplyDeletei am a tubelight...only now i noticed the rhyming between corr lines of the 1st and 2nd stanza... :)
ReplyDeletehehe...tried my hand at a new style...very different from the one I generally use.
ReplyDeleteagony despair summed up... awesome!! loved reading it.
ReplyDeletethanks a lot Amit, but I like yours more :)
ReplyDeletethanks! u r for sure gifted !!! keep writing and sharing.
ReplyDeletewhoa...!! :-)
ReplyDeleteI sure will keep writing and sharing, though sometimes I get stuck in some poem for far too long, and then lose interest in that :P