The nights slither and slowly crawl through
To that shuddering choke in your throat
And a turmoil of molten rage they brew-
Rage, of not knowing of how to tiptoe on a knife
That paints your footprints in a bleeding of blue.
The rage, of battles between your Jekyll and Hyde,
Where you wish, a truce they drew.
As you gulp these trickling flames
The wicked darkness dressed in a distant white –
Perhaps of a taunting lamp post –
The shreds of its robes laid upon you
It pampers out the guileless train,
That carried thoughts connected and sane;
And the screeching hoots of a bane
Flickering a dance of hallucination.
Under the dazzle of the white light far
A white, a blue, it tugs the palate
Of all thoughts into a gray-scale of gasps;
And as the midnight scarf strokes you
Your heart alive races the dark
You clinging on as you stare, stark.
When you pace with the race and know again
How to run and break the chains
The ones you clad your heart within,
The ones that someday will vanish thin –
And you’ll hug back.
As the night discloses your old friend again
And you don’t go through battle-cries, to pick sane.
The featured image has been clicked by our photographer Srishti Garg.
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