i possess, fountain of dislike tuned in the life’s verse
an oblivious mist shrouding them like the blue moon
pangs of tragedy, thriving amongst one of the worst
for them to rest in peace, hymns of peace I croon
plausible views blinded to the blind among tinges
they line up merciless daggers at me sans twinges
an oblivious mist shrouding them like the blue moon
the mist having enveloped the droplets of dislike
raining on a few from skies of their own tune
after seeping from mine with shadows ghostlike
unwantedly, the shadows finding their way over spreading glum
they push away the black whiffs, whipping them
pangs of tragedy, thriving amongst one of the worst
unbeknownst, fallen with teardrops of death
the vultures hovering with a core of thirst
spear heading towards me without catching a breath
demise of the chirping birds, swaying leaves, of forms known
for someone; ensheathed emotions, suppressed groans
for them to rest in peace, hymns of peace i croon
heard of, unheard of, the words lulling in the air
the bereft arrows of sorrows in blood curdling tune, impugn
for unleashing shadows, the beaks hovering on me to tear
their dislike, dipped in ill-wish, embalmed by hatred
sans it, dislike as it was, i croon prayers not less than sacred
plausible views, blinded to the blind among tinges
overlooking the same, subtle behaviors in their nook and corners
sucking out the commonness out of common to infringe
their embellished, polished mirrors turn mourners
for dislike cannot entail a lingering warmth after
for it cannot sleep amidst the cracks thereafter
the lined up merciless daggers at me sans twinge
each breath akin to these daggers carrying whiffs
screeching, pushing towards a box to constringe
of pungent blood, of lost phrases in deadly riffs
the choked words and a stifling mask
an utter chaos lurks over the murderous perspectives at task
I.127
The Minuscule Pi Chambers 