Catastrophe isn’t incessant raining
blood,
It’s that piece of land, where we last
stood,
Where I lost the charm of my flickering
life,
Every twinkling second turned into a
strife,
Where all the fairies lost to an ugly
reality,
Loneliness was my gift, painted
brutality,
Where fragrance seized to exist any
more,
A black box in this puny earth with no
door,
Where tragedy stuns the humanity and
smile,
Pervert time keeps you alive, death is
style,
Where plethora of event pleads to
respond,
And the silence of soul breaks every
bond,
Where words lose the battle to numbness,
And a body is only left, nothing to
harness,
Where a tide sweeps the heart at the
shore,
The bed of tempting roses, no more a
galore,
The touch of love, leaves you at
intersections,
And when you believe in it, only
rejections.
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