In dreams, I sink to the depths of the ocean,
deranged and green, the swirl in my lungs
asphyxiating me and the floor
decayed with rot and barnacles:
a beckoning – a call to the core;
the heart that leaks of putrid ichor –
spreadeagled like women after
bad sex or men after winning
a Pyrrhic victory – limbs stretched
out, ever reaching for so much more
but denied seraphic grace or a choir
to rouse the blood and add flesh and bone:
Ezekiel’s prognosis thwarted.
In dreams, I sink to the depths of the ocean –
with a millstone around my neck –
by this pull, this yank, this drowning,
And stranger still in day I hope
the same takes place, that dark brings soon
a rest in that green unclean void
devoid of passion’s throes and feelings,
an end to a search for life’s meanings.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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    1. Thank you Susan. It’s tough to write these pieces but they always give me some relief once I’m done. It may be dark but it’s a way of surviving I guess.

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