I think I am back again
somewhere beneath a cold restless wave
where the smell of a forgotten regret lingers.

A thousand eyes map my dread
and serve it back to my face
with a voiceless discontent.

I swirl like a newborn,
till I forget the smell of the skies.
An embellishment for the stars
seeing me slip into an oblivion.

“One’s misery is a supper of pleasure for another”
my demented grandma used to blurt.

She loved eating fish
and now the fishes are laughing,
the limb-lacking unbearable slimy creatures,
are choked with laughter, over my unending dread.

“Kill a fish yourself, let its blood cleanse
your dreams.”
said the friendly psychiatrist.

the crazy fucker didn’t even know,
that it all began from there,
from those very struggling eyes
near to the gills.

© Shashank Bhardwaj