There is no shame in choking the uneasiness
out of one’s sleep.
My larynx melts
when it is this dark.
The neck dissolves itself,
into a pool of subtle cold regrets
Silence drapes my bones
in a shroud of voiceless memories
rotting them, turning them
into the color of a fragile copper abandoned
in an unnamed graveyard.
It is basically a practice of perfection,
to death: the permanent sleep,
the unanswered question stabs
the unasked answer,
The god with no eyes and a displaced heart
– Shashank Bhardwaj