The Pawn Shop

If ever I got a chance
to pick a magical object
at the pawn shop then it
would be a crescent blade
that can cut off pain
from the happy memories.

I had tried and tried so hard
but had not been able to
re-live the flakes of moments
without dissing myself
and throwing into the pit of
overgrowing melancholy.
I wondered the poetry
I exhaled is a cure
of a damaged heart
but all it did was
gracefully become
an active volcano
exploding to an extent
that numbed my sensory organs
and showed me a naked
truth of poems being
a catalyst in crackling fire in me.

Leave a Reply