Faded Scars Of Prison Poem by Shreyansh Swarnakar

Here in another palely lit stream,
Swordfights of friends beget staunch ripples,
Crumbling rocks of ice, sweeping warts
Into a womb of garlands and bonds

The home mountain-top, tied to the stars
With a rope of hair that smells like dreams
We cling to a reason, we breathe out mists
Alone, with crowded minds

I will not kill the bearer of fate
For one day, fate might make me my God
She has spilled the truth like fire on our sacred threads
Burn, burn, for I believe your fire shall turn to ash
Slinking away from our sacred threads

For the hour when men love, should I give away a calendar?
Crusades, to shine in a lovely light
Faded scars of prison still adorn my mind
We will sew metal in them.