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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A year ahead my skull was taken by a diatribe- storm Her face formed a bead in an invisible dorm That was right I did feel with a warm wet street They pressed their seeds into salamander kit The first thing I did hate; “No, it was not norm” I smelled a smell of thunder -short and thick Played all knotty fingers a leprechaun trick I went to the Iron Gate, the colour I must hate Of that crippled stuff in me I shouldn’t overrate And stopped the nerve’s cabal with an assassin snick They said the sound of screech was a ratty speech In the corner of a lizard and spider-web rich Dumpled up near the bed with stiletto-eyes To the bargain, my demon -self began to rise My scroop and the shadow spoke each to each I did nothing to spoil the fight; I did know I was right I was cool in the argumentative pool while I was in flight The moon-baked night shed her chill over the Carolyn Hill In the jungles of cops, thousands of mops and the forgotten shrill I did know in sloughed snow that it was not a stage fright. I had my last straw to catch, darkness shrouded my face Salt in blood played a evening tune, "I'm sure I have lost my space" Now a derelict soul a barge I had nobody to embrace. I could vanish without a trace but a crash and burn Of thousand nights and summer wing's run Had made me a shallow drone with a zip gun. © Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty 13 th October,2014
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