Saturday, October 5, 2013


stretching into the ocean of night
under the sky gone pale with fever
the mind pines what the mind can't find
an hour of solemn, sleep and serendipity
a capsule to erase ill formed memories
that linger like a toothache all day
till its begins to numb you
with a morgue of silence
and a deathless decay

in a room that leaves no room for air
in an elegy that's too eloquent for anyone to hear
in a heart that allowed winter to sneak in
and degenerate


  1. Poet of your stature can never ' degenerate'
    Your poems are of superior class
    far better than your so called classy 'dry wit'
    in your short write ups.