Unfettered, blinkers slipping out
Fail to comfort with the grace of a whore
Wilting dialogues push up the daisies
No longer flushed with warmth and kinship
Dreams unfold handsomely
The ghost of fathers pull back to match your stride
Yet to reach the police station sited at a stone’s throw
Puddles of daughter’s blood still drip off his talons
While ravens peck matter-of-factly at rodents
Watching the seer plunge his scalpel into the ripen wounds
His alabaster brows furrow, stuck in the groove
Dying at their own fancied pace
Dreamers hurl the blinkers to the pyre afire
Immerse those iron fetters of envy into the Ganges
To fashion a garden entrenched in the graveyard of dreams
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Originally published at http://thewideblue.wordpress.com on April 13, 2021.
