POET SHUMUKH Poems

It is

As if
...

Don't just like it
Come and sit here
very near
to tear
...

When the eyes talk
Everything stops
The tides, the breeze and the clock
Becomes rock
...

I was sitting alone in me
My eyes desired to see
Thy shadow, as the sea
It entered into my Room
...

The rill of your memoirs
Sprouts from the excruciating flesh
Cracking ways through the shrinking canals
To kiss the essence
...

IN THE Wheel OF Tick Tock, AN Unwonted Fright
When THE Poets Scribbled ON THE Tamper-Proofed Lights
While Swaying Under THE Influence OF Inebriation
THE Verses Sung Were OF Destruction
...

in my long, dim mantle
With a forest of steel netting
tight as a second skin
in the blue of known struggle
...

Flames tremble like orphaned fingers.
Shumukh is searching for a chimerical chord.
Wax bleeds its last alphabet.
Onto the shadow that doesn't remember how to read.
...

The soap of blood squeezed out by the brain-child

making the mosaic murky
...

The clay is charred.
De novo! To give a new effigy.
To blow the command,
This time!
...