Asking for ominous revelations on the morning,
Waiting for a body;
Of the self!
My whisper, it waits ever eagerly
Ready to face the shivering December
Even like the hazy reflection trapped inside a mirror
For some images craved form the misty breathe
Of sleepless nights!
My whisper is burdened with a body
For it cannot drag the body,
My whisper, it consummates every night
With my thoughts thinking it for a womb
Through dreams and shadows;
But it cannot conceive a soul
Except few severed limbs.
And my whispers
They all die like my poems
Imitating burning voices and dreams
Of a generation lost in wilderness
Of freedom and its many loose interpretations!
***01/10/2010***
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