Friday, April 29, 2011


What does it mean to chase
The lines of melancholy's fate?
To cast one bitter look
Askance or feigned gesticulate?

The sand so stained beneath the branch
Fathoms an upper world
Where lava red with blackened crust
Spews fire bands unfurled

No one dares grasp with dismal eyes
A hope filled glance, a stare
At melancholy's inimicous.
Brace yourself, beware!

The line is drawn, the plans are made.
A conch is blown on cue
To signify a destined fate-
Fatality of you!

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