It Never Shows

Our eyes are kangaroos
that carry the skin
in its pouches,
our skins have survived
the feet of tyres
riding over a ground,
our hairs, like the
Savannah grasses, have
been burnt by the
orange sunset. And,
our palms bear the
bleeding maps of
our endless travel.
Those dreams, desires
and hopes befriend
the dust in the basement
we cleaned once
upon a time. It
never shows, we
are thick and thin
enough to penetrate
those double-spaced
crocodile lines, flashes
of moonlit memories
are sufficient to move
those wounds to
the edge of our books..........

by nithya raghavan

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.