An Object Called Life
A thing possessed by power desires exert
turns into an object inanimate and inert.
A life untainted and vibrant if captured
by the bloodstained clutch of lust tart
rolls like fallen beads, the string ruptured.
The senses drenched in acidic insolence
don’t repent for a moment the presence
in dismal heart the perennial obsession
of fostering desires in their grey essence,
decimating the spirit of their possession.
A body accessed by instincts of desire vile
existence is no longer animated, it’s futile.
The sunken piteous mind breaks asunder
at threshold of disgrace where disdains pile.
Where has sanity gone, times don’t ponder.
The conception called life adored and prized
a precious treasure to be preserved with pride.
When it wrecks to crumble in an object ravaged
the heart spawns hatred stowing love aside
and doesn’t find a place for the soul shamed.
September 22, 2017
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2017
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