The Anon Abyss. Poem by Purvesh khamankar

Its cold, out in the shiny night,
A thin covering... a flame out of sight.
The shallow trees bending low,
So much to freeze in the warm snow.


A battered hut with ancient wood,
Crawling pine like tattered hood.
Bugs, beetles and one winged sparrow,
A copious ocean, ending narrow.


The flexed sky with fogging blue,
Uneven, blur yet with rakish hue.
The profane stream, through putative bed,
Expelled, unwanted and chimerically dead.


Tired from whats done and aint,
Diabolic, disguised yet revered saint.
That cryptic curator of this ironical stage,
The only reader of this final page.


- P.S.K