creative-writing, Death, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, poetry

Pointless

I was born out of a blood-bath
and will turn to dust someday,
I shall finally laugh voicelessly
while resting on a bed of fire.

The horizons shall still be untouched
their throats shall still bleed
as the sun sets in tired
by this never ending melancholy.
A thousand dogs shall still be homeless
their hopeful eyes still clueless

The men shall still be reckless,
The women shall still be remorseless,
The earth shall still be lifeless,
This cycle shall still be pointless.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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