beauty, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Price

A memory of your smell :
an enslavement, so clandestine.
It tunes my arteries to sing,
like the waves sing,
for purposes unknown.

I ebb away ,from this nonchalant madness
and turn into a moon-kissed star dust
wishing there were no sun or stars,

Cause I now abhor the lick of light.
It separates us unknowingly.
How come I still dream of you again?

At what cost?
At what price?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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