"malad" poems
Crossing the Malad pass
I grabbed my heart
and threw it against
the distorted window.
It remained there,
stuck as a dead insect,
streams of blood dripping down.
My pain now rides the bus to be seen
by bystanders, casual walkers
and old couples holding hands.
Not by him, who stayed
behind the mountains.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC