I am a subhuman,

living in stupor-

when you live

in a land of goats

you are unable to read signs-

Night appears to be sizzling

with light

while Day lurches under cover of darkness-

this happens

when you live with goats

in a goat-land….

at night which originally is a day

you find hollowed, murdered words

lying like famished humans of the Bengal Famine-

you find hollow-men brawling

in talk shows of spicy politics-

and you can’t smell apocalypse with a blocked nose

while bridges collapse and fire consumes traders-

yet you are clueless-

you mistake the scimitar for a moon-

and write poems-on a breezy day

which actually is the blackest of nights-

this is because

you live with goats

in the goat-land.


Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Evidence/Clues @ Poets United


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