Akhand Singh

Around the corner, it lies still,

With no signs of joy, the body’s ill will…

Tears taste like the dry salt,

Thirst does not quench and a flow does not halt…

The eyes are dry, dreams ran off,

Every relation it mends is now hand cuffed…

His own psyche ran away,

And everybody he knew presented only their nay…

At every corner and at every center,

I guess he is alone now…

Inside is the dark and dark is outside,

Yet it still delivers the only word how…