Sunday, February 10, 2008

Doubts of the soul (from my book)

Summer slit into the mind, effervescent with heat,
Like a bubbling marsh, smelling of dead carcasses,
Mundane but surreal, petrified and paralyzed,
Must time ask permission, to halt and move on...?
Like a surrogate parent, attached and yet so far,
Blasphemous in perspectives, to an unknown end,
Filing in disorder, a replication of some chaos,
It stacks up and disorganizes all known order,
To the final judgment day, boiled in a cauldron-
- of hatred, hypochondria and doubts of the soul...


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