Saturday, November 30, 2013

dedicated to Gulzar-

slowly we recede into our own holes, 
the place that we used to call souls, 
with each passing moment and little splattering of sunshine 
we get used to horrors 
that wrap us like the never ending space 

the saints have adorned daggers 
while the smell of this stale, reeks into our senses 
and we wait for it to consume us 
so that all feels right 

I walk out from my memory 
into a land where folklores have fled 
and myths and tales dwell inside people 
with the stench and the fragility of self, 
the daggers and the long running chain of continuous wounds 
have numbed what was once alive 

and gods have names but no identity

and you and I and all of us 
wear mirrors for faces 
and find everyone beautiful 
and everyone ugly

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