Saturday, 23 June 2012

Blisters on my palms,
Cant draw a smile on the brow.
Lips have forgotten their walk,
Weary they tread to words.

Nails etch on the skin,
Blood flows in a rhyme,
Deep scars, shallow pain,
Distracted by the wind’s chime.

A strand of hair,
Water in the eys.
A million suns take birth,
Sky follows benign.

Quiet, content within itself,
Lying is a lifeless sword.
Hidinh itf face under a cap,
Unless told, utters no word.

When shaken and asked,
Bout the moments of silence,
It stood up on the canvas,
And painted these words.

                                                                … Shiv.

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