Through the Kajal Smudged Eyes

Letters roam around me, a to z,

Yet I stand without any help.

I look for a gap to gasp a puff of air.

All I see are people

Who carry venomous serpents on their tongues.

I wish to be the last fume coming out of

The black, weirdly twisted wick of a burnt out candle.

I am crowded, instead, with

The gallant flashes of fire flames,

The black smoke of which chocks the tongue out of me.

My inner wounds, still fresh,

Are clogged and stinky with the oozing puss.

The sinus cavities are clogged either.

To empty them, I need a huge vacuum cleaner

With sucking lips and an even cleaner heart

Broad enough to tuck me in, entirely.

My wealth was spent along the greenery of my life.

Too meager to mention.

The blood got dried up and got thickened

That it is no more easy

To drain it out through a cut-throat.

It will freeze, instead, to a tree of veins,

The roots of which will find their own way.

I will still wait, the only option left,

And see how it is going to end.

Though, I even doubt the existence of an “end."