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If I am dead

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Scribble your confusions

On paper

Does the blue

Turn to red

There lies the heart

So black and torn

That one refuses to believe

That it harbored blood

Words fall short

Yet pain is vast

All aches in head

Laugh loud

As they stay

Where there are

And refuse stairs

Of words

How do I write

What cannot be written

So I shake my head

Slip into bed

Make a pillow

Out of my


By others

And sleep

Like a log

Not knowing

If I am dead!

Poetry is meant to be enjoyed and not skipped and hopped. Look at the words carefully. Work your mind to make interconnections and then marvel the meaning. You would enjoy it all the more.


What do you think?

14 points

Written by Glower4

Glower is a writer cum poet who is a commoner endowed with uncanny gift of extreme and deep abstract thought resulting in astonishing written word.

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