Poetry has sinned!

POETRY HAS SINNED!

Is it the abyss?
If it is, I am in the nth film
Am I?               

May be I can play fire,
Or is it fire that has fooled me,
Or is it the brimstone of my own myriad goofs,
Or is it Azazel’s colony playing compromise with my kindness.

Heaven has shut its door.
Beings, too, have shut theirs.
So I was left in infernal blankets,
And exude in ways of dolor.

In thought of fleeing,
I traversed the viaduct of mud lark
Which were humans before they went astray.

In thought of fleeing,
I ascended to cheat vileness,
Yet I get lost in bigotry of humans

In thought of fleeing,
I confessed my transgression to the divine
Yet I were despised of odds
Until I found myself in dystopia.
I was in dystopia.

I am in dystopia.
And they’ve paid obeisance to me.                                                
The posse has sang out their salutations,
And endowed me halo.

They dragged me to the deepest,
Deepest seam of ordeal.

Not a typical phenomena
Beings used to salute their own kind.

They never dragged me
To the deepest of warmth
Rather to the deepest of excoriation they brought me.

They made me drink tears,
And swallow their heaves

They made me worship rules,
And named me “Poltergeist.”

Until I died once, twice, thrice and re-died the same event.

And until one of the posse
Spoke softly and reeled into...


So I lived again… in dystopia.

I lived again.
And make poetries with the posse.

[Some] Beings have read it,
But they lost their eyes.

And I drooled when they begged for mercy
They wanted to read my poetries
But they can’t.

Not until they cross the same mud lark,
And rise to cheat same vileness,
And ask repentance from the same all-powerful.

Not until they find the same dystopia,
And ask if it is the same abyss,
The same nth lamina,
The same compromise with the same Azazel.