This wall with its cracks,
Where every crevice
is an unheard voiceless moan,
becomes an abyss of observation
for my restless eyes.
I trace its tips every night,
Its faint wreckage,
till I could
listen it being fissured
inch by inch by tips unknown
in the viscous dark.
Time melts itself slowly,
dripping all the way to my eyes,
drowning my visions, and if that was not enough
The light brews at the lips of dawn,
flooding the room with a desperate silence,
dissolving the beautiful little chaos in my life,eventually.
© Shashank Bhardwaj