How often
Have you hung your
hopes out to dry
with the stir of revolution
on backs of broken struggles
and calloused hands
Yet history intact
How often
Have you surrendered
to the whims of the
privileged. For your
eyes had forgotten
the feel of the sky
On the unveiled eye
But now
Do we stop running
From our shrouds of
Choking clouds
And breathless rains
Weaving our destinies
Beyond your grated proclivities
Last Seven Poems :
- Over
- Make Your Life Be your Art
- Zoned Out
- Unlove
- Stop them
- Safe
- You
- Lost Love
- Winters Turning Poetic