they would wriggle their tongues,
teasing each other, from
opposite sides of the fence,
of sharp protrudes, which
could not cut the thread,
by which they were joined,
their comradeship intact, with
an amalgam of childish love,
and the simple plain desire,
of being with the other
through the window, of the
structures, that stood apart,
divided by a brick wall,
the tentacle eyed would
look, at the blooming friendship,
ready to plunge, their venom
into the hearts, of the innocents,
bidding for the time, when they
could feed, the mouths of them,
with the bitter seed, of animosity,
many years passed, everything passed,
the walls of those cursed shelters,
had bounded down, all that remained
was that fence, the knives of which
had gone blunt, and on the either side,
stood those, who knew each other once,
aware of the vacant space, in their chests,
(the yarn had gone loose, but there
was still a hope left, everything
had not gone, into trash yet)
on the gravel ground, they were stagnant,
reviving what was snatched from them,
how they were cheated, and left with
the ache, of losing what was theirs,
their eyes pierced, their souls apart,
and they veered away, not able to
grasp the pain, of their small lives,
losing balance, of the truth, they gained,
they walked away, finding their own ways,
what it was, it was lost, and that was all
