I can hear some words suppressed deep
into the dark creepy dungeons,
where even the blow of bludgeon
will fail to shed a tear to weep.
The sound of silence growing steep
with the death of candle’s shimmer,
Our flame of love getting dimmer.
Holding on to the void between,
entwines now with my routine,
conquering my mad mind’s clamor.
COPYRIGHT © 2019- 2021 Nima Mohan, thetenthzodiac.wordpress.com, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED