Cadavers Laugh At Moving Dead
A voice is incarcerated in every inch of the space
many slashing tongues,
but no patient ears to hear.
All “Says”, without any say!
Voices of ice to the vices of eyes
” Senseless” noise, higher than decibels audible .
We are betrayed, yet we treat the trait,
engulfed in tumultuous waves of yearning,
indulge in a penurious game…we shed
pieces,
pieces of ourselves everywhere, selling our patience.
Darkness drips out from the deepest quarters, black
easing out apparent uncertainties held intact.
In the grips of contagious shenanigan wiles
oblivious we, on a settee of faithless fate recline.
Offering fear, news of sorrow pour from everywhere
even cadavers laugh at us,
we the “Moving Dead”
trace and trail smiles of peace, but
dig the graves for tolerance and humanity.
©®Nandita Samanta
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