Nights of The Capitalist Rise

By Animisha Saxena

I’m sorry for the decay

The spiteful, rotten stew that disgorges from my mouth,

The mountain was set to move,

To the moon 

And here it lays, as rotten spew.

The days I towered,

Were children of my cover.

Now they lie rotting to my power,

Laugh, laugh, laughing like clowns,

In the innocent way, 

That mornings try to climb to the moon hour.

I’m sorry, I’ve beaten myself, 

I’ve torn oneself,

Like a child,

Of mornings and butterflies,

That can’t escape from the night,

And pays to take down bats that fly to the moon

In delight.

In nights to come,

I will seethe, I will shower.

I will scare children with snares,

skew the mighty ruins, like an emperor,

And twist the moon to sundown, respect my ghastly glare.

By Animisha Saxena