Undead

Every morning I dig your grave and make an obituary with past tense in my speech. Every night I dig you out and whisper warmth in the present cold wind.
Every day I light some wood and turn some scribbled notes to ash, every night I write something good to burn such scribbled hopes to ash.
Every day I brave the chill with a laughter cutting through its fog and feign,Every night I spill some tears that make the morning mist again.
Every day I let go of the remnants of a corpse of once a life, and every night the ghost of it haunts and holds on for dear life.
Every day I jostle past the debris of the structure once, Every night I build the wall and leave a stone still un-turned.
Every night and every day , I could put either one to end, To let it perish or to cherish to break and then to never mend.
but what is it the night or the day , I could live it or take it to bed.
Though not life, this is not death in choice and thus compulsively so Undead.

The Nulliparous Romance.

Why is it that a stark love can yield nothing but an anomaly to its own nature?
That upon yielding in its fruitful terms the most prolific perish to being barren, when nurtured  by the wholesome ?
Certainly the fruit of the womb could be bitter in its nature but why shrivelled? Should love and its consequential die as such,unborn? A disowned love child forsaken buy its bearer.

Echo

Stare down a bottomless pit,
and then wait for the thump of a fall,

and the sound never reaches your ears.

It has been counting years,
the fall to meet its end
and in the ever lasting free fall
the fears I have I fend.

So to test the theory true,
I screamed my heart to you,

in a hope the end was met,
and the crash caused none dead,

cut through the ominous silence

lest the emptiness be the same.
I yelled at you not yours but my
own fateful name.

I hear nothing new,
I crave to hear some voice,
The pit must be bottomless
for my ears do not meet an echo.
and the free fall is not a surge
and I am no string tied bob,
that will dangle on a string to hang
and then it's state recall.
it is an endless fall.
and the fall it shall be.

Lamenting(part III)

Of all the things I undo,
and undo as knotted strings,
I have learnt to fret not
but rue the misgivings,
of a woman so foolish in love,
or a man so blind in logic
 so staunch in pride
that vulnerability sheers to tragic
and to have them both in one,
fragile glass like frame,
both daunting at the surface,
both extremes in the same.

Of all the things I rue,
I rue one not my own,
such object of a life,
misplaced in misfortune,
I  could feel the two spirits in me,
I wonder if he had one,
What flames does it take
 for the soul to twist and turn,
be such as a coil of a weak alloy
be such as the vapours of
a substance smoked to dry.

Of all the things I give up,
I give into this one rue,(I hoped forgetting was brisk)
oblivion never found my doorstep,
it was in haste to find you. (easier to find stone obelisks)
Of all the things I love,
I wonder what is my passion,
An unnatural borne progression,
Epicene in it's nature,
for you were dead I now know,
 the two spirits in hate I harbour.

Love perverted
Lust,Greed, Gluttony

Love deficient
Sloth

Love malicious
Pride,Wrath,Envy

and yet yo say you say
not absolve of Love?

Love redeemer
The penance for all these love,
 hold it to virtue
without the sins above?

Love not despised
is love left untouched
Not a virgin
but a whore
off her path .