We’re a plethora of conundrums,
particles of oblivion.
There lies a phobia in not being understood and also in being understood.
We fear and at the same time summon sinisterism through the guns of atrocity.
The earth will experience hatred, do you know?
I’ll tell you how and it is plain as a pikestaff.
I begin with the revolution of celestial bodies,
aversion of the sun and the moon when they will no longer abide by each other,
immensely tired of their fucking jobs.
Myriad of stars will pour like the heavy shower of rain and rain will rush off above the sky.
I tell you it’s phenomenal to think beyond and it’s not a lie.
You must be knowing broken hearts took ages to surmount and they’re never the same.
Why aren’t we curious for death and a voyage after that?
An edged track is mind-numbing that’s the life I say but you may term it as a shibboleth.
Artistic Homo sapiens needn’t fathom but rather usher their personas as no man did before,
grasp that thrutching coercion into themselves maybe or may not be their thing.
They really needn’t scare what if people ween them as insane cannibals?
But, if art blossoms in not being sober then let them be inflammable.
Here comes an end of words from the winter solstice.
B. Farhaj Jebin