Blankness-
we visit in our own ways
I pay my dues with
silences
hanging
like wet clothes
in small houses.
When I open my legs
there is only a fixed
trembling in my fingers.
My shapes have shifted
and all my moods that
have been carved in natural anger,
ask me of my doubts.
I bind carnivals of sadness
to my ankles
and touch them often to know of reality
Not only this, i have forgotten to dream
and become beautiful.
There are tragedies on my mind and a fear of blindness.
My lungs are falling apart and I will
become still
with the loneliness of this aerial land
Bury me carefully
And let me wait.
I think touching is just an evasion of the inevitable.
let us ask the wind to make us cry
soon.
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