A hard-hitting poem about rebellion, revolution and the one of the bitter ironies of human life in the post-modern context.
Surrounded by a sober night;
And tranquilising the infinity;
Wooden hearts were trespassing the polished city;
To release the hairs of war;
They knew how far they can go;
Their bleached intuitions were reluctant;
Anarchy moistened their epithelium;
‘Ponder’ had little space within their cells;
Organic revolution was their aim;
To melt the quiet hearts inside them;
Proud were their wings when they flew;
Not even aware that they were puppets;
They were made to tempt the peace;
Some placed them in the genre of ‘exquisite’;
While others among ‘humans’;
Rebellion woke up among the animals;
While humans turned willingly towards being vulnerable;
Deep inside they missed the silk;
Universe collapsed between the war;
Two groups chanted their own songs;
They believed that even after the collpase;
Universe will breathe in its exhausted body;
Dry bones blackened with pests;
Fed on the manuscripts of life;
Delusion of the end came faster than light;
Humans on the Vertical roads started to suffocate;
The transaction of hatred was passive;
Humans never knew that the night was sober;
They believed the fire will melt everything;
But the saliva of the sober night never came to their surface;
Drenching the wildflower in their dreams;
Revolt came from one way;
While dead hatred engulfed the hunter’s ability;
The exhausted universe witnessed deaths;
It now lives cornered and trembling;
To never release its intimacy with anarchy.
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