ACHE OF A THOUSAND SUNS
A thing that yearns in constant devour,
And finds itself to be a constant sour,
Totally dissolute… and an accumulation of none,
Is the thing that burns, at a constant run.
For the thing is… in all its effortless glory,
The ache of a thousand suns.
Copyright © Srveer Bhati | Year Posted 2025
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