Poetry

Hydrangia was in full bloom 
when I left. 
Machine had failed me, 
when I was looking at the 
third eye of the sun 
in crimson sky of west. 
 
I was running away from myself 
keys were chasing unbroken latches 
the moon was yet to be born 
in blackness. 
 
The foetus turns 
strikes the womb with violent kicks 
who was the father of unknown child? 
 
Let’s go and meet in dementia. 
Three cheers for the wedding boot 
turns the man into a snail. 
 
Death now enters 
to cross the threshold of tears 
and listen to soulful 
nightingale.