The night’s machinery with its countless pieces
orbiting an egoistic man’s pale existence…
And he thinks he is alive

may be…. after all these years
I am still waiting….
Waiting for a dream to be wiped out.
brought to dust.

It is just a facade;
allowing the ink to drip through the nose
before words can step out
of the mouth.

Today the bells are silent for a change
there is too much noice going unnoticed
someone has to ring
the register again…

So Let’s talk of humans
Which is their most favorite species?
What defines it?
taste or love?

A bus carrying the corpses will take a dangerous turn
late for the wedding party
they will come back to life
and no one will die today

-Vinod-

Categories: Poetry