Wednesday, November 18, 2015

Goirick Brahmachari- A Poem


Fuckers like me don't have the rhyme
(A song)


Cut me into pieces
burn me like a storm
these hills that my head carries
fucks my lungs,
a roomful of smoke.

Memories of home
clay rivers, boats
my little fingers
now branches

making love to stones
aching notes, drones.

I revolve round the sun
a slave of this existence
just a loop

following orders
eating my breath

swallowing truth
in perfect rhythm.
Self inflicted pain.
I am the disease -

Escaping mirrors,
peeing over time.

Memories of home
clay rivers, boats
my little fingers
now branches

making love to stones
aching notes, drones.



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