Saturday, 10 August 2013

Poetry 2013 Shortlist, Swarnava Mitra

The Shards

delirious voices rise up through my vein
as words of knowledge rot  behind a cold masquerade
dozens cry and dozens die
still they hang on to the branches of a windless sky
surrender this brown leather in a flame so red
so that the venom will run wild and the night will melt into furious lead
a seedless virus will crawl under your bed
testing your will and the mighty blade
forget the moment and remember the brave
as these are minutes in anonymity behind the shards of pain

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