Poetry

To repel the slice of 
hope, the patriarch 
falls midway. 
 
Pushed to the end of 
leaf, a moth is propelled 
in the mouth of deeps. 
 
The boat starts sinking 
in the age of doubts 
and dementia. You 
 
will need to manage 
your fires. A hollow 
rustling of slogans will, 
 
not repeal the canorous 
sounds coming from the 
orgy. Life takes a turn. 
 
It asks for an insane man 
to change the world.