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by

shivansh Umatt

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BEREAVEMENT

How will you ever know

About my hopes that

Will be left to suffer

Alone on the bed of thrones?

 

Will you ever find out

How crassly my interiors

Flow open as if there

Are many hands

That gouge out my insides?

 

I hope you never find out

That the curtain, behind

Which you sought shelter

Against the demons

You said popped up

Under your bed at night,

Is fabricated out of my

Own body tissues and

 

My blood provided it

Tangibility and my knife

Carved out shapes in it.

And yet you hid there

Oblivious and unknowingly.

 

You thought you were safe

And as much safe

As you thought you

Actually were,

I

Was

Left

Truly

bereft.

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