In The Middle

Lust, revere, proposed norms, pettiness,
One pushing admiration, possible merits.

Royal perspire, lone shady shadows,
Actions to narrate success, like notes.
This sunny bowl, brimming notions,
Diction exaggerated anxious desires, nothing yet.

Recitation of reverse proportions,
Repetition of blinking stars.
Far back with a chance, things clued,
Acquired, revoked, proven rods, nothing yet.

Colored blanks, painted stories,
Exposure to bitter remarks, tickling sparks.
In air fragrance, the innocence inside,
That cradle pleases and expiates.


Read More:

The Cut


Yetesh Sharma