Sunday, April 09, 2006

The Devil's Whisper



He spread the fields of his life
to be furrowed
by the plows of time.

The atrocious truths
turn toxic!
Famine passed by,
left a groove.
The days of humiliation passed by,
left a groove.
Grief passed by,
left a groove.
- Fossilized centipedes
imprinted
on the wide forehead.

The hollow depression
of the eyes, casts a dark shadow
on the sunken cheeks.
The sunburnt skin
knitted
around the grim, taut mouth
conceals an epic
behind the imposed silence.

He lingers
to trace an echo
of the devil’s whisper.

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