The gaunt pallor in the reeking mess,
the haunted spirit and the spirited fest...
On those deathless eyes, one can see,
watch the screaming bloodshot cries...
The flesh and bone of life,
all eaten away by the forces,
all left but ruined mass of dust...
The smoke rising from the veils
adorned by the ghostly presence,
the light burning in the wakeful watch,
and the ghastly drifting of a soulless mass...
In the darkness of hellish pits,
where the fires of dead passions lie,
untold and unseen, this spirit drifts...
Prodded as in life and so in death,
by the stabs of the unfair wrath,
ever on the path of doom,
the wraith walks its path...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
2 comments:
This is one eerie poem!
I'm not at my best, but I can't seem to follow. I'll come back at a later time, but this is my first impression.
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