drop by drop.
The colour,
black or is it red yet?
As if
freshened by the new showers -
clotted blood yields
and begins to thaw.
The files get inked.
Fresh insights,
newer revelations.
All pooled in blood -
but wiped neatly
at the same time.
Four muffled voices
writhed and groaned.
Freshly pulsed to life
with a bureaucratic pen.
Thousands asphyxiated souls
struggle to catch
one whiff of unmethylated oxygen.
However,
it's a crammed cupboard,
full of crawling germs,
dusty papers,
declared verdicts,
finalised justice.
One wonders -
looking deep in those
hazel-doe eyes,
flirting with jet black ringlets of hair,
caressing pale cheeks.
Rosy lips kissing
the white coffee mug,
embossed with pink flowers -
if this is what life meant.
The very next moment
one ignores,
laughs,
and consciously grows numb
leavings things
just there.
