By Shah Bisma Manzoor
In the deep folds of my heart, there lingers a poet.
The lyrics, who writes, in painful aches.
The rhymes are crafted of the oozing blood.
For syllables, the euphonious lament cries out.
The out-flux of the succumbed emotions and dead dreams,
designs the verses with a poignant meter.
A sonnet, the vicissitude of affliction creates
Imagery of the dying heart dancing in glee
Symbolic of the senescence of the fake promises.
A cage of tears leaking drop by drop
marks the death of my poem with each word vanishing.
Signifying my approaching end, with vitality falling asleep.
Shah Bisma Manzoor, from Jammu and Kashmir, India, has done masters in English Literature and works as Vice Principal at a higher secondary.
Subscribe !NS¡GHT to never miss out on our events, contests and best reads! Or get a couple of really cool reads on your phone every day, click here to join our Instagram, Twitter and Facebook.
!NS¡GHT is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views. If you have a complementary or differing point of view, start sharing your views too!