tendency of foamy imperfection

 

 


when I lost my temper 

for a faulty chain of my bag 
I befriended verbal clash against mother 
uttering profanity with ear-piercing squabble 

it is known that silence is a latecomer 
because situation applauds rage and suffering 
and a shameful lunatic frame I could see—who 
would be ready to smell this oppressing element? 
Only my mother? The only women who manages my heart? 

it is known that peace travels very slow 
because situation chokes the heart 
and then it subdues the embryonic stage 
to plough the lands of love again 

a late arriver’s fall into mother’s lap—
immodestly roused in a poem: 
botched up smell of masculinity

 

 

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