Sagging Drum


Myriad anomalies
And their consciousness
Pricks his conscience
As a sagging drum is beaten
And how it stops blaring the bass out

The sight of his garden
Wearing despair and dread
For Spring said,
“I would not call at anymore”.

Roses have taken off
The gowns so bloody
Their thorny knights standing more erect
No more shade under the sighing branches

His eyes asking Jasmine
“Where is the torn tumbler
you always served thy aroma in?”
Now nature’s choir singing lies
Whitening his blood into coffin


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