silence germinates lovingly within the emanciated bodies of pilgrims
she breathes in the uncertainties of the cosmos and exhales forests
the night sky is the belly button of a sleeping god lying on its stomach strangely hollow and yet filled with bizarre wonders
a beam of bone white mercy cuts through the dark to reveal the fangs of a treacherous coast
petals rotate like clockwork life runs on color and rust
she draws silence from the well of the void her tiny frame working the worn ropes an eternity of labor she never tires a wry smile breaks across her face as the bucket empty but heavy emerges
cinder and ash morning smells like damnation of burnt ruins
rumours of rain this dreamless night the body endures this bed of fire
vanished suns of autumn true morning never quite returns
i’d like to fix my worn knuckles with comet bone and witness a small apocalypse by the hour
elancharan gunasekaran 