Life As a Dream.
If life was dream
Sculpted by death to trace
Within its bound a clarity
Undone by an impassioned heart.
Perhaps death too was a dream
Sculpted by life in fire
On a face sickled in time
To cut the dark night
With scimitar of a moon.
In a lost world
Where should we go?
Which door to knock?
Men with indifferent faces
Women stooped in drunken gait
A world without the word
Veiled figures in attires
Standing at each door.
In the garden
Some blood soaked rags
Hung by the wooden slabs
Where the eyes of a dead man
Looking for ever
On the death’s face
A shock of infinite
Proportions
Across the muted race.
Copyright © Durlabh Singh | Year Posted 2008
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