An Old Monk

A bud is plucked before could bloom,
Friendly four corners snore of this room;
What lives when that dies in whom,
Leftover moist ashes of last monsoon.

How whole about the hole that’s hollow inside,
Only absences would reveal who resides;
Death is life to miracles walking beside,
Long back a named shadow committed suicide.

Don’t wanna wear any number anymore,
Again tonight’s slumber got sold to strangers like whore;
Intuitive remaining counts of breath gasp on floor,
There the end is a gateway to celebrating doors.

Our I belongs to no right nor wrongs,
Life is a series of silent songs;
Thoughts bought by desires simply prolongs,
Here hear a one hand clap by an old monk.

Previous articleWhy Stephanie Ann Married a Rich Guy? A Relatable Tale..
Next article11 Most Bizarre Life Hacks You Never Knew Existed
Akash is an aspiring Poet/Author/Song writer and also writes content for various articles/blogs and threads posted in innumerable websites, communities and social networking groups for literary works. He is good at brainstorming and fast in writing crispy content, bold slogans, catchy captions and punchy one liner’s. Akash has already got few of write ups internationally published in an Anthology on Zombies named as, ‘Unleash the undead’ a compilation by international author Samie Sands. Currently, he looks forward to launch his first book published by 'Destined to write publications', which is a Canadian publishing/writing firm.


Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.