Broken Images

Poems

So I bleed yet again, not from the slings
and sharp arrows of your thoughts but of mine,
the color of my blood is no more blue
but a dark shade of red in my brittle veins!
I know, bleeding and being burned is our lot
as poets immersed in the flame of their thoughts.
   
   
The other night I had been to the dark side too
and saw how the moon craved for the warmth of the sun;
it craved and pined just as we, human beings, might do
when the light had left vowing never to return!
   
   
There was the promised land built with my bleeding heart,
coagulating upon that dark and windless plain!
So, let my people go, I cried to the ruthless world
and took my soul to fight in a gladiators’ game!

   

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