• anavil 5w

    Fell into the prairies of probabilities //

    My heart becomes an ancient scribbler , a somersaulting hydra amidst these flimsy lands. An anatomy of all the skeletal pressures. You are collaborating with colossal shadows of all things wonderful and quite material. I'm burning my money under this small house's roof near the inglenook. I'm a conflicted child at last still nineteen with no good luck in getting the kind of families they talk about. Behind the newspapers. Sipping spiced tea and munching fenugreek, salty , sweet cookies. I'm salty too. I'm sweet in dreams. Friend said you come with open arms and you rob the peacocks and the doves , pride and peace is a lethal combination which could coexist almost never. So I drown claps for you beneath the dinner table and God chuckles at my deeds. Then his music , embossed with renaissance and sugar hills. Spends time with my hollow bones. And you say-
    'We've been meteoric , now it's beyond us.' What is going on in this sky ?
    Fly high to another war cry. Rose to the tombs of the dead. Dangling finger tips touching your floor. Eyes screaming with red threads. And you return to your sick bed with dead babies , uttering Bible verses to little thumb sized nomads.But Far, I went. I went far to the closeness of being free. And if you ever cry to the moon with frozen limbs. Say that you loved an anomaly. Above all. Love, the Valley of truth speak no stories. It sings life. So, bent path of my straight travel. Give me truth. Give me truth. Give me truth. © Anavil Singh
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    So, bent path of my straight travel. Give me truth. Give me truth. Give me truth.