dusk every other soul swept under the rug except for us
Tag: monostich
like every other habit death too becomes second nature
it is your softness that kills us the tender of this morning
makes you wonder doesn’t it the poet’s silence
the rain twisting our insides summer dawn
a casual replay of the cosmos on our death beds
to dust all the worlds we’ve seen and known and lived
as i peek from under the skin of the landscape
this frail flesh: a haiku of sorts
walk into the night holding a shard of glass crimson at its tip
elancharan gunasekaran 