Overcoming Alexithymia

Many deaths I’ve to live
In love, the twister
That lifts me also splits me
And slithers the creature
Resident of my damned heart

She’s expecting
The galloping white horse
I put on my lamp, hissing
Against the mocking sun

Dread of drought
Has dried the river within
Another yearning
In the desert of derangement
Another retreat
To the crematorium of melancholy
Another ceremony
Of the paradox of passion

Far far away fades traces of a trickle
Ellipsoidal scent of an orange recedes
Into cold cave of unseen embrace
And I’m dying on a sequence of deaths

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Rathish Sharma

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I don't say something for the sake of saying;I say because something needs to be said.
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