PHANTOM's LANGUAGE

 Poetry is become madit gives birth to lunaticSnakes and frogs make noisein the ruined well.  Poets say that even now,twho woman who killed herselfa very longtime agoreads poetry near the well. Poetry, which seeslovers on the beach,is inside the seabreath subsidedand motionless. Poetry sprouts wings at nightwhen it thinks of flying beyondthe window barsfeathers fall off one by one. Rusted barsscratch the dream body of poetryand worship the aethticsdripping with blood from the poem.  when it dawns,light sweeps awaythe withered feathers of poetryinto garbage.  Poetry beautifies itselfin the nakedness of darkness.Poetry is the soul of darkness.If only the night had not arrived,Poetry would have killed itselfa very long time ago.Do not read Poetryduring the day ever.Poetry is the language of the night.  The fragrance of his kissis in the Poem which eats meLittle by littleand satiates its hunger.  Poetry buds as Love,does not get contained in lust,struggles for breathin the grip of deathdies, survivesand lives with deathwhile writing on.  

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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