Monday, January 5, 2009

Silencing Their Cure

Critters of the gallows do still wallow
In the last blink of a cold eye,
As the winter turns to swallow
All the cures of all our old crimes,
And nobody seems to quite know
Who to turn to with their foiling?
This planet’s rotundity the sun still resists,
As nothing comes to any real end.
As long as nothing comes out of crisis,
How can a day yet begin?
Do you wonder why your trail recedes
Every day, till it fades upon your feet?
Does eminence embellish what lies beset
The pain of a cure of a disease unknown?
Enough you have tried to cure your fate
Kill it shall, as it praised you to be born.
Staggering under sleeping-pills,
Ribs slackened against your breathe.
What were you trying to cure?
What did you think you could escape?

Their eyes wary, their lips parched
They have long searched for the divine touch.
But now they are sleepy, almost restlessly…
They have learnt to never feel lonely.
The cure or the incurable shall always be
Always very close to their heartbeat...
Always very close to where no one speaks;
Not the incurable...nor the cure.

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