Sonnet #2

I often wonder what I must do knowing
as fingers rap-rap or tip-tap against (clo/cks)
that no fix might mend, but…but this exposing
of spikes that only smell like sugary rocks

is tough, unnerving, hard, unyielding, broken
of course, my mind sees more when I look at her
but yes, my heart sees less to leave unspoken
and walk away with her heart in tears, a blur

and yes, in that sense, I’m no feminist
and art’s a front, agenda the (mock) rhymes
but you and I know the screen, the hype, frequence
that seeps, that breaks, makes a misogynist
or a search for a mold, ignoring chimes
that pet-shake, must I end with a small sequence?

you cannot empathize with a life you’ve never led
moralists are just big liars
and yes, so am I
but if she’ll
stay she’s

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

Protected by Copyscape


      1. Thanks Lou. The problem is that a lot of people don’t interpret stuff rightly. But like you said, fuck them. I’m tired of that shit.

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