A Thing of Beauty'

By Niharika Goswami

Screams are awful,

deafening.

The night has it’s core bullied

by a herd of narcissists.

Layer by layer…

the glory dims down to contempt

and nobody preserves it.

Unlike those good old days,

the ones with bronze spoons

chase the ones with golden..

and the golden stalks the booze.

The man who killed the goose,

kills a thousand more..

the gold burns, but the ashes remain.

Every hermit rejoices their triumph

over the mankind,

as if there’s any rose without a thorn,

any pet without its master,

then the pet kills the master…

Who says the sins are washed away

unless you prick yourself to

big Lord’s way?

He doesn’t listen anymore, may be.

The rainbow had that smell..

lustrous and delicious,

who knew the kin man poisoned it’s taste..

The war comes to peace with itself,

blood and vows scream the same..

the freedom is still a beauty.

Sending them the harm’s way?

No, they won’t forgive,

love is never omitted,

like a comet.. it goes and returns

with flavors you might not know.

All hymns are bound to hearts,

like a rainbow to the rain.

Not a cage,

just a parody, if you call it..

or a melody.

The greens are far away, so are the blues,

and yet,

hearts bloom together

erasing the blisters it once gave.

By Niharika Goswami