I’m looking at separated lands and displaced people and inside me something inside me stirs and tears perhaps it is a thing called conscience a soul maybe a mutter a flutter it comes from within and I listen and allow it to shape me maybe listen give the voice inside you a chance to speak
Tag: art
moths circle the fractured fire and sadly none will die tonight
within this space of summer halos rust and assimilate into flesh
the tongue offers manicured words and vanishes into the mouth of dust
the songs of the bone choir raises towers of salt along the coast
a taste of thunder and the city forgets shape
first rays of dawn carve doors in the dark
you kneel and the rage eats you alive from within
to be undisturbed by your chaos
a shiver creeps across the garden rattling the leaves and quiet things in the dark
elancharan gunasekaran 