An overburdened beast travelling in the space

An overburdened beast

Hanging on for dear life and damn death

calls from wild singing

of forefather’s fears and futuristic vibes

There, there, go slow my friend

from Devil’s abode to God’s kindness

where efforts will pay fruits

as you slumber

such is the rest you are provided

in peace

Yet, the Devil might show up

might take your hand and waltz

might make you dream of cows and singing bells

the dream you abandoned

in favour of being The God’s light

The Musk of rain, the pit-stop of knowledge

my dear muse, is only but

your own making, be alive , bedazzle

take along my casket of wine

drag on it when divine!

I fall into the luxury trap of poetry often, oftentimes it is a lap for my baby-mind, a puppet-body for its caress and it dances to its rhythm like it has seen God and yet, the face of human is more alight. Such is poetry’s defiance, it protests even when the heaven has descended on its head, it wants an equal piece for every mind that is curious. Alas!, but that’s so childish and batty. A batty child throwing a tantrum for sleep?

Published by EssenceofPresence

For life. For good. For cheer.

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