The Monologue For Burnt Out Subjects
The monologue of burnt out subjects
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The monologue of wind
has stopped its hum a while
admiring nothingness
of this vale; there are stumps
of trees where verdant
has once been scalded by
a famished forest flame.
She sees the red flickers
of light at the mute nights
and choke them with pillows.
The spots of burnt fears
seeded her awake eyes.
The monologue of wind
isn’t really its own;
it is what my shouts
has become, some lame drones.
Of course the death of trees
has long been predicted;
the way people has said
that our spell will end
and she will depart me
there, in the forest
when the fire will
begin from a corner…
In the vale, wind passes, hissing;
I am nowhere like those trees.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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