The reprisal of birth of light
weakens the cohesion
of condescending layers of dissent
deciphering a silence is an art.
you look forward to a meaningless hymn,
cheap liquor and loud chaos :
retribution for your forsaken originality,
last seen in mirrors made of darkness.
isolation is a gift for few.
you expect tidiness in palaces made of dust,
gods weeping in your arms and a silence
that walks itself out :
a new layer forged in the absence of light;
no exit music for waiting dreams.
© Shashank Bhardwaj