Sunday suicide fest

vikas chandra

Lingering sedated slumber, on the same wrecked bed
This Sunday, me a mystic, who divines, his lot ahead
Oh! Done with this hide-and-seek, with self, and time
Would this man, still shy away, from that sin, sublime?

Every nerve dug out today, the roots of that evil tree
Tentacles cleaved away, of that octopus, on the spree
The agony that became me, beyond the soul, to hold
Now I forsake, that legacy, to a willing heart, I once sold

I end for world! No! World ends for me! Both same
Not in talking terms, sworn enemies, none to blame!
A life, barren, like a blank check, never signed, to redeem
Spent up every tear, every wail, this soul, declines to scream

The maid did come, to make my bed, O’ with lustless eyes, I stare
Has impotent, gone this dying man, his manhood, laid out bare
That next door kid, smiled…

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