Perhaps writing is a form of shapeless silence within
Trying to murmur with those burnt lips
Scars all over that meagre body
Like inscribed phrases on some bygone scripts......
Words desired to tangle with their eyes
Fingers trembling towards those frozen hearts
In a state of numbness, the soul ought to reboot again
Brushing the blotches of their crippled parts....
Inaudible breaths deep down the cold graves
Struggled to pierce and mingle with the blore......
Lifeless they seem with a sluggish move they care
Their inner amok may awake, purloining pride from their core.....
Searching for reciprocation in those eyes which ceased to heed
They are cynical like those unborn lies
Hide your silence to let them concede.....

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